


Nag Kath Book Two; Unanchored

by Gelansor



Series: Nag Kath [2]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-17 00:47:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 178,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29341551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gelansor/pseuds/Gelansor
Series: Nag Kath [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2155053





	1. Coming to Being

**_Unanchored_ **

Book Two of Nag Kath

**_Chapter 1_ **

**_Coming to Being_ **

**The maps of Ithilien are helpful for this and future chapters.[https://imgur.com/gallery/jHPlDU8 ](https://imgur.com/gallery/jHPlDU8)**

Nag Kath took the Dwarf Road to Celduin Village and then back towards Dale. He did not make it that far. His plan was to discover more about himself. And he had to do that with the Elves. First he stopped to see Eniece’s parents. She was still fit and strong but Elmos was failing. They knew he had to leave. He stayed an extra day to see Eniece’s lifelong friends and then took the Forest Road to Thranduil’s Halls. There were a number of Elves still there. He heard the birdsong as he approached the checkpoint and respectfully dismounted to watch the world go by. 

Two ohtars soundlessly slipped out of the brush. They wore the same brown and green garments as past troops but their hair was darker. Nag Kath bowed in their manner and greeted them in his halting Sindarin. One asked, “Are you traveling through to the Grey Havens?”

“No, I came to visit the Elven Kingdom and learn what I may.”

“The Ñoldor have all left.”

“I am sorry, your tongue is not my own. Who are the Ñoldor?”

The sentries wondered if he had been left behind on purpose. The other said, “The Ñoldorin are those who returned. We are Nandor of the Silvan. We remain.”

“Then I am pleased to meet you. I am Nag Kath. Are you the keepers of the Great Halls?”

The first one replied, “We are. And you should come with us. Do you know the way?”

“Yes, I do.” Nag Kath walked Regaldin along with them.

“The second Elf said, “You must forgive our appalling manners, Nag Kath. It has been some time since we have seen an Elf coming from this side of the mountains. I am Destirfin and this is Legantiir. May I ask what brings you here if not passage to the sea?”

Nag Kath said amiably, “I want to learn more about the Elvish people. I know very little.”

Now sure they had a simpleton, Legantiir offered hopefully, “Perhaps we can find answers ahead.”

There were no guards, no livery, no exquisite robes. These were working Elves. The ohtars took Nag Kath to an antechamber and presented him to a tall, brown-haired Quendu with chiseled features. Speaking in a language he had not heard before, his escorts conferred with their chief and waited. The chiseled Elf squared up to Nag Kath and said in Sindarin, “I am Fearnold. Thought you to visit Thranduil’s court?”

“No, Fearnold. I knew him long gone. I came to see the city itself and to learn more about Elfkind.”

Not quite sure how to approach that from someone who looked like Nag Kath he said, “Are you new to the subject?”

“Yes, Fearnold. I am but one and twenty years old and have always lived among men.”

It was possible. “Well, most of the libraries are gone. And the teachers with them.”

“Please tell me if this is not my business, but why are you still here, Fearnold?”

We have chosen to stay in our home and resist the call of Valinor. We were subjects of the Sindar and do not want to continue that in a new place. The Nandor are …” looking to his Elves, “… more of earth and sky.”

Nag Kath said, “In any event, I am most pleased to meet you and glad to learn what I can of your people.”

Fearnold could not be insulted by that. “Very well. I’m sorry, your name?”

“Nag Kath”

“You may stay as long as you like. You must hunt or do other work, though. We are quit of table service in the Elvenking’s halls.”

“Thank you, Fearnold. I will make myself useful.

And he did. He performed any task they asked except hunting. Fearnold had underestimated the books and other historical items. Not only were there volumes, two of the Elves were avid readers and historians. Nag Kath would spend three or four hours with them or exploring the Halls and the rest of the time he cleaned or worked wood for building and craft. That earned him his rations which was all he needed. 

Eniece still pushed her way into his thoughts. He would have asked the Elves how to clear his mind but he wanted her there. She was with him, encouraging him. That was a legacy of love.

Two weeks into his visit, Nag Kath wandered up to the throne room. It was unused now. In a corridor leading downstairs he saw his waterfall picture. Most of the other pictures had been removed. He studied it for a time, both critically and as a measure of how time had passed. He hoped it would be there in a thousand years.

Most of Nag Kath’s learning was on healing. There were several volumes, perhaps duplicates of books taken, that dealt with Elvish medicines. Going through them was painstaking. Elvish languages changed over the eras. He read Sindarin better than he spoke it, but his learned friends did not mind being asked intelligent questions. Only one small chapter in one book was devoted to spells and applications of humors. Healers of that sort were as rare among Elves as among men.

Nag Kath established himself as the simple cousin of Elvendom which gave him excellent cover to ask oblique questions about supposedly sorcerous Elvish healers of antiquity. Folk knew of Elrond, now just as gone as Thranduil. And the Quenda of Lorien had greater powers but she was over the sea as was her husband. Their grandsons might still be here in Middle-Earth but that family had not been close to the northern Elves since the Second Age. None here had such talents or were much interested. They were very skilled in herbs and woodcraft. He had to tell himself; Elves did not need much healing. 

It wasn’t all labor. Elves paid close attention to the stars – not as astrologers trying to divine the future. They looked to Queen Varda’s pagentry and paid special care watching the Star of Eärendil when it appeared in the dusk sky. Work stopped when it shone. Some sang songs or recited verses in thanks for their many blessings.

Nag Kath also absorbed what he could of Elvish architecture. Largely in Quenya, he studied the pictures and made copies. Often he redrafted structures he had designed in Dale and thought he could have made better. Hard work away from the library kept him fit. After two months among these people, he was granted permission to use the Elvish trail that brought him to this place so long ago and saddled Regaldin for the trip south. 

The changeling remembered the turns even though the path was less used. Three days later he reached the Old Forest Road and turned west. Along the way he looked for the poisoned streams. Not only were they not fouled, they weren’t even there, as if filled-in by wholesome dirt. Near the western edge of the forest he took a long break. For eight days he rested and sketched pictures of birds and other animals of the forest. His patience was rewarded. The area was called Rhosgobel and the old, brown wizard spoke to him as he boiled water. “Well, it seems I am just in time for tea. With whom do I have the pleasure?”

Nag Kath turned to the sound and bowed. “It is I, Nag Kath, honored Radagast. We last met at Orthanc.”

“Yes, yes, of course.” The old man walked right up to him and put his hand on Nag Kath’s face. “You drew those pretty birds.”

Nag Kath said softly, “I can only offer you a log to sit but my house is yours.” The water was just hot enough so he pinched tea leaves in the pot to let it steep. Then he sat next to his guest.

Radagast looked him in the eye and said, “It seems you have done well.”

“I have, thank you. I have been long in Dale living quietly. Now I will widen my horizons.”

The old wizard considered that and mused, “Both good. It would have taken this long to sort all of the things you are ... perhaps long enough to for those on the route to forget old troubles. But tell me, Nag Kath, I sense a heavy heart. Is that something you should leave behind?”

“I am recently widowed and she comes to me unbidden. I do not regret that.”

“Gandalf told me before he left that you were a student of right ways. I am glad to see they continue.”

“While we are waiting for our tea, here is a bird I just drew. I thought you would like it for your home.” 

Nag Kath took the sketch-board leaning against a log and gave it to the brown wizard. He looked at it for the longest time. “That is a forest thrush. They are often close to me.”

With that, Nag Kath poured the tea into tin cups and handed one to his guest. They tinked the cups in toast and sipped a little. Neither of them said anything else for a few minutes. Finally, Radagast asked, “What are your plans from here, young Elf?”

“As you said, though I did not know it then, I needed a long time to fit the pieces into place. I confess; I have been a bit lazy, always busy, but too much concerned with my little world. As Gandalf advised, I want to learn more about healing, and something of myself in the doing.”

Nag Kath looked directly to him and added, “I sought you for a purpose. My healing skills amount to pulling common ailments from people and retching afterwards. I could not save Eniece.” The Elf took a sip of tea and continued, “After I left Orthanc and was making my way across Dunland I met the Wild Huntsman. He came to slay me. I told him I was a mild healer, and that he should speak with you and Gandalf about returning home now that his labors were done.” Nag Kath chuckled, “That made him want to kill me even more but I talked him out of it. The giant placed his hand on my shoulder and gave me a rainbow of colors through his gaze, said I should take it for his sake. I think it was a healing gift. Do you know?”

“The Huntsman never found me. I do not know him very well.” Radagast rose and lifted his staff leaning on the log. Magic staffs had not been enjoyable for Nag Kath but he would grin and bear it. The wizard simply set the butt of the staff in the dirt and watched the small crystal on the head glow. Then he whistled softly and muttered, “You don’t seem particularly evil. Come with me.”

Nag Kath was always surprised by how fast these wizards moved. To all eyes they were old men with walking staffs but he had to keep up with his long strides. Radagast led Nag Kath who led Regaldin along what could barely be called a trail. Four bells later they reached an amazing shack. Now with some building experience under his belt, Nag Kath could not see what kept it from collapsing. Radagast told him to make the horse comfortable in a small shed and waited to escort him in the home.

The inside seemed bigger than it looked from outside but in no better repair. Ever the landlord, Nag Kath saw a few leaks on the planks – no more than any old house. Radagast walked over to his kitchen area and somehow manufactured a warm meal in minutes. Bringing it to his small table he recalled, “Do you still not eat meat?”

“Yes, honored Radagast. Since the gaol I cannot abide the smell or taste.” 

The wizard said, “Hummph”, and sat with the portions. There was no meat on his plate either.

They had said little on the trail. Now with dinner served, Radagast explained, “Power springs from many places. Saruman reached his through air. That was probably how he could change the weather. Gandalf controls fire. Mine comes from earth, mostly. I can’t say about the Huntsman but I sensed in you power coming from water. He may have been simply testing you. Most healers find theirs in water also. Yours is stronger. How much remains to be seen.”

Nag Kath asked, “And the colors?”

The wizard furrowed his brow before saying, “I do not know but I can’t help but think that the colors identify sorcery. Do you see colors in healing?”

“Yes. I am silver. Men are shades of yellow. I feel evil in green, green and black combined.” He had another bite, “I have worked with two female healers and they both said that for the longest time, the dark Lord dominated fell influences. Saruman hardly signified. That did not mean they owned or controlled all magic. Some humors were malign and yet unaffiliated with the Lords. Some wandered off on their own so long ago that they were not controlled by the rings of power.”

Radagast nodded, “I agree, serpents and beasts hiding in foul pools answer to no one. We have friends too but they are only seen when they choose. Don’t suppose you have seen any Balrogs?” 

Nag Kath shook his head and then thought out loud, “Miss Quessan said that with the Lords gone, powers would seek me.”

Radagast hardened, “That is why you must be strong! Ancient forces need someone up here to wield them. That can go very wrong. You must trust to your nature. Never accept abilities without a reason or because it is easy. That is your lifelong test, Nag Kath.”

Radagast was content to let the Elf stay as long as he wanted. Most days they only spoke for an hour or two because the wizard was abroad in the forest. Sometimes they went together but said little. Nag Kath wondered if the wizard’s very presence healed the hurts of Dol Goldur. 

In his third week there, Nag Kath had sketched how he could repair a storm shutter on Radagast’s largest window. The pencil rolled away on the lopsided table. The wizard told him to call it to him. The Elf strained his head trying to influence the stubborn pencil but it would not budge. 

“You are trying too hard, Nag Kath. Draw from water and imagine the pencil pulling to your hand through your feet, as if on a string.” The pencil sat there mocking him. “We will try that again.”

He left the pencil on the table. He tried to bring it for the next three nights until it moved half a roll. Radagast was right. The ‘Fast’ came from water as well. It was something drawing through him. As with the brown wizard’s ability to nurture plants and beasts, the power was not inside him. He was the conduit. That was what Miss Quessan called it too.

Another thing the brown wizard told Nag Kath was that freed powers from earth and water were finding their way into trees that could think, talk and move in greater numbers than before. The Ring War had woken them from millennia of slumber and they were flexing their muscles, in a manner of speaking. The balance between forests and the tree shepherds was broken. Ents were few and dwindling. It might be long years before trees challenged man for territory, but it was coming.

When it was time to go, Nag Kath sat next to the wizard and said, “I want to thank you for your trust. There can’t be many of me in this world to try your patience.”

Radagast wondered, “Probably just you.”

“Where do you think I should go for more answers?”

“Gandalf thought to keep you from Elves early on but they are largely gone, except for your new friends in Thranduil’s halls. I think you should try Rivendell. Some of you comes from Saruman but most of you is Elf. To understand yourself you must understand them.”

Nag Kath gave a small smile, “Not an easy place to find.”

Radagast said, “True. And it is that way on purpose. Take out your map and your new magic pencil. There are several turns that cannot possibly be correct that you must take regardless.”

They parted the next day as friends with promises to meet again. Nag Kath nudged Regalid towards the pass.

______________-------_______________

A half-day’s ride brought horse and rider to the Old Ford. At this time of year the Anduin was not as treacherous as spring but he was not looking forward to swimming it. He didn’t have to. Merchants along with regional governments had built a new bridge. The river tightened and ran deeper because of solid rock faces on either side of flow. It would have been an exciting project and for the first time in oh so many years, he wondered if the huge oliphaunts had helped. 

From there he was only another day and a half to the foothills climbing the Misty Mountains. The High Pass was as he remembered. He also remembered it was steeper on the windward side so he paced Regaldin who made it with only minor slips in the shale. This was also where he had to start looking for trails that should not be there. Nag Kath memorized the map but still referred to it frequently. 

There it was. The crushed rock looked no different than any of the crumbles sliding down the hill. They turned left and started back up a steep grade. After several turns, the path became much smoother, almost manicured. They walked slowly up for another half hour when they hit the side of a mountain. That was good. Unwelcome folk who got this far would turn around. 

Nag Kath led Regalid downhill to the right another league and saw the crack in the stone. From the path it was only a shadow. Staying on foot they followed the seam until it cleared into an opening. To the eye it was just more shale but he could hear the Bruinen now, flowing strong and fast as it washed a thousand feet down in less than two miles. He felt a wind pushing against him but there was no breeze ... a ward against men perhaps?

Pressing on, another half hour brought them to the most amazing view he had ever seen, the valley of Imladris and the last Homely House of Elrond. By this point he expected to see sentries. He had also heightened the ‘Fast’ if he had to pick arrows out of the air. Ten years before he had an archer shoot cloth tipped arrows at him to see if he could snatch them. He got about half. The problem was that the condition only lasted a split second and arrows could come in waves. Hearing them in flight was the trigger.

It took another half hour to reach the courtyard using paths that concerned Nag Kath more than Regalid. They were made for Elves on horses and his horse understood that sooner than he did. Tying Regalid to the post he saw several Elves walking into the building beside the great hall. They looked at him but kept about their business. As long as his luck was holding he thought to see the library first. That was just off the main hall in the second level if Radagast’s memory was right.

It must have been magnificent twenty years ago. It still was for just the architectural elements but there were only perhaps two hundred books or paper boxes left on the shelves. No matter! They took what they wanted but that did not mean they took everything worth learning! Keeping an ear out for his horse, Nag Kath walked the rows looking at titles and box labels. Many were in Quenya which meant they would just have to wait.

Rounding one row of shelves he almost ran into a small creature beyond his experience. The fellow was between the height of a dwarf and a hobbit but rail thin with a huge hooked nose presiding over a long wispy moustache and beard. He thought this might be a gnome. The creature was dressed much like the Sylvan Elves but had breeches with hose ringed in red and white and a tall hat.

The fellow stared at him for a moment and rasped in Sindarin, “Who are you?”

“I am Nag Kath.”

“Orc six?!”

“So I’m told.”

“Hughmmmm, Very well, six, what are you doing here?”

“I have come to read and learn about my people.”

The gnome, if that is what he was, walked a few steps closer, almost as if sniffing the changeling and growled “Hummm, don’t remember seeing you before.”

“I am just come from Dale.”

His questioner did not seem concerned. Nag Kath supposed that since he looked an Elf and had gotten here, he must be entitled to visit. The gnome ventured something along those lines, “I thought Thranduil’s people already gone, not that they spent much time here. Straight for the coast, they went. Took their books with them.”

“Ah, good sir. I was not of their company, though I knew some of them. If it would not be impolite, may I ask who you are?”

“Hummmm, you are a strange one, Orc Six. I cannot place your accent.”

“Stranger than you know, good sir. I confess; I am not familiar with your kind. But then, I am not well-traveled. Please excuse my ignorance.”May I ask your name?”

Courtesy dawned on the creature and he said, “I thought everyone knew. I am Logass, chief Elf-keeper. We protect the sacred places. There are seven of us here, though I am the one mostly in the library.”

“I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Master Logass. Only just arrived, I have not considered where to stay or what to eat. I do not want to impose.”

“If you are here, it is our duty to feed and house you. Did you arrive on horse?”

Nag Kath said, “Yes, he is tied below.”

“Well, let us get him settled and then deal with you. You have some explaining to do, young Orc Six.”

_____________--------_____________

Regalin was placed in a very large stable with only three other horses that did not look like they had been ridden in a while. They had been fed recently so that was comforting. Nag Kath stayed along side Logass who walked on his tiptoes with a great deal of bend at the knees. He also crouched forward slightly giving him a hunched appearance. It did not seem painful. 

He led Nag Kath back up a side entrance to the main hall passing by a variety of gardens and nooks that were looking the worse for neglect. There were flowers and bushes but they were volunteers and not trimmed. Whatever else the keepers kept, they were not handymen. Logass looked over his shoulder and said, “You have your choice of accommodations; either you can stay in the old Elvish quarters or you can stay with us.”

Nag Kath answered, “I supposed it depends on food. What is most convenient for you?”

Elf-keepers are not often asked about their convenience. What could this number six possibly be? He looked of the Teleri Elves but had such a difficult accent. And he was dressed as a man. After so long away from the looms of Elfkind, he supposed one made due. “Well, we stay in the back rooms close to the kitchen and there is plenty of room.”

“Then I would be honored to stay with your folk.”

“Very good.” Logass knew the other three Elves here now were riders from Lorien staying in the highest of Elf apartments and leaving for the Grey Havens in the morning. Should he introduce this one? No, they had kept their own counsel so it was none of his business. Few Elves could even see the keepers. This one spotted him right away. “Follow me, Orc Six.”

Nag Kath was shown to a small room that had a long bed, dresser, wash basin and a small desk with a real glass window overlooking one of a dozen waterfalls. He would worry about organizing his studies tomorrow. For today, he took his sketch book out to a bench and started drawing pictures worthy of a gallery.

Rivendell had a variety of bells but they were rung for reasons, not times. Folk were supposed to know the time. Not wanting to risk being late, he went to the mess hall. It was pandemonium! Logass said there were seven of them but that did not count their women who were carrying steaming vittles of all sorts around a long table. The same food had been served to the Lorien Elves in their own dining room. Nag Kath took a chair against the wall and marveled at how none of these remarkable creatures ran into each other busting to and fro. 

As if on cue, they all stopped dead in their tracks and looked at him for several moments before resuming frenzied preparations. When the table was laid, Logass returned and sat at the head. “Friends, joining us tonight is Nag Kath; who is Orc Six. He is come to study in the library and other things. We are the first Elf-keepers he has met so please explain what we do, should he ask.”

With that, food started flying around the table. He was served all manner of viands he had never seen before. And like with Radagast, there was no meat. There were eggs and cheeses of different colors. And ale, but only one mug each. Nag Kath took the largest chair among many sizes. A fellow three closer to the head said, “Hughmmm, I am Norgarn. Welcome to our table, Mr. Six. Are you traveling to the west?”

“Thank you for your hospitality, Norgarn. No, I plan to be here for a little while and then make my way south, perhaps to Ithilien and thence Belfalas.”

They had to consider that a moment. That was the wrong direction for the flow of the Firstborn who generally moved north and then west to Linden. The last of the Lorien Elves were still active but they were not expected to be here much longer and would cross the Misty Mountains much further south. Some of the northern Sylvans were staying but this curious fellow was not either of them. Orc Six said as much since he had just stayed there.

In his favor, he seemed to like ale, rather then the wine of the Eldar, and had chosen to dine with the keepers so he must be a fine fellow indeed! Nag Kath leaned forward to see around two women who were much stouter than the males and asked, “Forgive my provincial upbringing, Norgarn, but what manner of beings are you keepers?”

“We are simply the keepers. We have always been such. Our business is keeping the spirit of the Elves alive in their high places if they cannot do it themselves.”

“That is a noble goal.”

The woman next to Norgarn offered, “It is what we have always done, Mr. Six.”

“Thank you, ma’am. I look forward to hearing your tales.”

A keeper across the table from him regaled, “Then you will get your chance in just a moment. The telling of tales is our entertainment after the evening meal!”

And so it was. Fencïl, a mere sprig at barely five thousand years old, sat in an Elf-sized chair near the fireplace and opened a book in his lap. Nag Kath did not know but it had been chosen for being in Sindarin, the only language they knew him to understand.

It was a tale like the ones Gandalf read to the guardian children in Orthanc with shining knights in battles against the worst sorts of foes. It was not a fairy tale. There were casualties on both sides and sorrow for their losses. Nag Kath did not recognize any of the names. Elf names and titles were fairly long and they did not use nicknames. Often they had several names and one should know that. No matter, he enjoyed the story. Then it was time for bed. It seems Elf-keepers actually slept so after making sure it was permitted, he walked out to a balcony and listened to the water falling everywhere around him. 

In the morning he made his way to the library. The valley did not get full sun even now in high summer. Men would have a hard time reading in winter without lamps. The remaining books were arranged by subject rather than language so he had to thumb through several in the first shelf he reached to find one in Sindarin. He did not find any in the common-tongue. In the courtyard he heard horses so he rose from the couch and watched the three Elves preparing to leave. He waved and they waved back but were soon on their way.

Returning to his book, it was a history of Elf migrations in the Second Age. The language was very courtly which made it repetitive. His halting understanding of Sindarin was unusual because he did not say it to himself in his head as he read. These old books were meant to be read aloud. Many of them were written after the stories had been handed down orally for thousands of years. Mannish troubadours of today repeated their verses to establish a rhythm and remind listeners of aspects they should not forget. Men did not do that when conversing. No matter how long someone’s name was, there was something shorter. If a man was the King of four realms, people accepted he still was a chapter later. Nag Kath imagined he might return here many times over how long his life might be so for this trip he wanted to concentrate on healing and origins. A quick conference with Librarian Logass explained these books were in the order they were left but he did not care if Nag Kath rearranged them. He could not take them though. Copying was fine.

Several days into his studies, Nag Kath saw one of the keepers hauling a bag towards the kitchen. The poor creature seemed bent double under the load. The Elf ran to him and took the sack off his shoulders and asked where he might take it. That got him a look he would never forget. The gnome, and he would think of them as that even if they would not say, told him, “It is just a bit further this way, Mr. Six.”

That evening before dinner, Logass came to him in the dining hall and said, “Teurvan explained what you did for him today. He said he forgot to thank you.”

“It is of no matter. I am strong and can serve. That reminds me, should I be paying you for your care and cooking? I am used to earning my keep.”

Now it was Logass turn to look stunned. “We are Elf-keepers, Orc Six. You are no trouble at all.”

Three nights later, it was Nag Kath’s turn to tell a story. He had never written them down. He had pictures to remember some. Tonight’s tale was of the Wild Huntsman. He added some drama against the obvious fact that he lived. Many of the keepers had known the Elves or known of them during their lives but this was the first yarn in an age where the teller was a participant. 

Nag Kath made spotty progress in healing. Counter positions between different writers on the same malady were common, sometimes inferring those opposed to their treatments were respectfully ill-informed. There were themes though, like which plants seemed to help in most cases. By a stroke of luck, one book in Quenya had a list of those plants and pictures of them. Nag Kath copied those as precisely as he could and asked the keepers for the names, then and now.

Two weeks in, he thumbed through a very thick tome on northern migrations and was on the verge of putting it back on the shelf when he saw the name Morgoth. That was the first dark lord. He brought the book back to the table and pored over references to his early malcontent among his fellow Ainur. Quite a bastard; old Morgoth. The book was in the oldest and most formal writing style of the age, which made it almost impenetrable for our modern Nag Kath until he found the making of the orcs.

It was only a paragraph but the contention was that the foul one captured an unknown number of Elves of northern clans and subjected them to horrible sorceries and surgeries to make the first orcs. Most died but a few survived. Their offspring had no memory of better lives and the parents were murdered. Without dark lords of any kind to rain malice down on Middle Earth, Nag Kath wondered if he had changed back to the ancient form like folk said.

A week later he found the tale of Sauron being defeated and forced to change to Elvish appearance. Even then he brought ruin to many lands. That must form the Lady Arwen’s assertion that he might have done it again. Nag Kath never felt like a dark lord, though he did ask himself long and hard after cruel killings in Eregion and on the Dwarf Road if he could do that for his own purposes? He decided he could but would not. That was the best anyone could hope for. When no one was looking, he did roll escaping pencils back to his hand.

______________------_______________

Nag Kath decided to stay in Rivendell for the winter. It was quiet, beautiful and in some ways its grace reminded him of Eniece. He wished she was here.

Two Elves came to visit during the autumn but they spoke little and seemed busy doing something they saw no need to explain. They knew the keepers were there but could not see them and made their own food. No new Elves came to visit after the first snow. Nag Kath learned a great deal more from the keepers than the books. 

He asked Naurice, wife of Bondo, about physical maintenance. Nag Kath understood a bit about wood. It dies slowly. Wood needs painting or sealing or waxing every so often or it breaks down to mulch for new trees. Naurice explained the keepers were primarily custodians of the spirit of place. Rivendell and Lorien were repositories of memories and cares and parts of us that never leave. As long as there were Elves in Middle-Earth, they would watch those things and keep them safe for future need. Another time, Nag Kath asked Yevijj about the northern kingdom. He agreed it was quite Elvish but had not been a place of thought. Their mighty King was more in the mannish style so the more southerly Elvish settlements kept their own records and memories. And the Silvans? They were Elves as much as anyone. As long as they lived, this place would be here for them to renew and refresh. 

That rest was less than perfect. The call from Valinor was strong. To resist was to be diminished. Unless the power pulling them west dissipated, they would eventually succumb to all of the ailments and aging of men. It might take centuries but it would find them. Yevijj was curious about Nag Kath. This Elf was no Silvan, nor, seemingly, any other kind. Nag Kath said he had never felt the call of The Undying Lands in his blood. He didn't mention he might be part wizard.

Nag Kath loved story-telling. Sometimes both men and women would gather afterwards and discuss it like scholars. If Keepers were truly six or seven thousand years old, they would have heard them all enough to have an opinion. 

It was his turn again in mid-November. He would test his path.

In the fashion of a troubadour he began dramatically, “Here now is a tale of great powers fighting to their doom. A dark and terrible wizard created an army of cruel slaves whose only purpose was to destroy the world of men. They numbered in their thousands. The fastest and fiercest of them were sent forth to capture four Halflings who carried a fell tool lost to the darkest of Lords. 

“The foul servants went to a river hoping their quarry would stumble that way. Instead, they were all slain but one by soldiers of light who imprisoned the warrior in the deepest and foulest dungeon. There he was forgotten for a long while.

“While he was there, the dark Lord and the wizard were destroyed utterly. When that happened, the servant was bathed in the light of their demise and painfully became a soldier of light. But he did not know how. He had only known hate and death.

“He found that in this new land, there was love if you looked. There was beauty if you embraced it. And there was forgiveness if deserved. He strove to do all those things. He continues in his search. And every day he finds more proof that the dark Lord has lost sway over the land, and that free people of every kind have a place at fair tables.”

The keepers looked at him and looked at each other. At least it explained the accent. Fencïl, who knew as much lore as anyone said, “That is a very new story, is it not, Mr. Six?”

“It goes on as we speak, Honored Fencïl.”

Yevijj commented, “Then the memories we preserve have grown. That could not have been easy, Mr. Six.”

“It gets easier every day.”

It snowed often but never very deep. Nag Kath often strolled the grounds looking at the astonishing architecture. Did it make Elrond sad to leave? Would he find someplace as nice where he went? Over time, he asked the keepers almost to the point of annoyance about Quenya. It mostly eluded him but even a little helped him understand a section of books on building. Some had pictures. He copied one collection of drawings showing the little waterways cascading down the homely house to the Eiaontal Garden. He hiked every inch of the grounds. It seemed water was everywhere, but gates above the property diverted the larger flows into gated catch-pools to keep constant flow in rivulets through the buildings. Some places in Rivendell were very loud.

By April Nag Kath had looked at every scrap of paper he could find. Healing and sorcery texts were limited but there were bits and pieces. Most books were military histories which he skimmed and placed back on the shelf. One of the most important things he learned was ingredients for Elven waybread. Mrs. Yevijj showed him. Laying hands on the ingredients in the wild would be hard since some only grew in a few places. That was rendered a problem for the future since the lady keepers gave him pounds of it when it was time to say goodbye.

Saddling Regalin to leave, Nag Kath realized he had new friends. He would see them again and share stories yet to be lived. They would wait, patiently, as they always had.


	2. Skills Made Manifest

**_Chapter 2_ **

**_Skills Made Manifest_ **

Nag Kath’s plan was to cross the High Pass again and take the path along the Anduin far to the south. Belfalas was the goal. It was part of Aragorn’s realm but said to be self-governed, Ithilien too. Going from north to south meant Gondor. He kept to the western bank where there were fewer swamps by most accounts. The first important river he had to ford was the Gladden. There were folk about, mostly farmers, but they were timid and did not speak to him, even the famous Gladden Kaths. The road was clear and smooth. It was not for wheeled-traffic but a horseman could make good time through the Dimrill Dale. The first real settlement might be the Elves of Caras Galadhon. He stayed on the path and camped in plain sight. No one approached and he did not feel watched. They had been traveling almost a month at an easy pace when they reached the Celebrant River leading from Fangorn. 

The pretty little river gave way to homely scenery. Across the Anduin were the aptly-named brown lands. The Wold on this side looked little different. This was the upper edge of Rohan, well away from most people. Easterlings from the Rhûn region often beset this place for all the good it did them. Saruman convinced them their fortunes would be better if they took the horse and grainlands from the Rohirrim. It might have if they got that far.

Two weeks later he reached the Falls of Rauros. The last six days had been slow going because the river passed through a series of rapids with no easy trail. Much of the time he led Regalid well west of the rapids. Nag Kath made a point of sketching the Argonath statues which, while Gondoran, were done in the Numenorean style of stern kings standing sentinel over their boundaries. 

They had to pick their way past the falls on the western side before reaching a ford into North Ithilien. It was a nasty bog for much of the way on either side and took another six days to reach decent footing. Upon gaining Cair Andros they took a rest to dry wet things and let Regalid graze. The day after that they reached the main north/south road that ran the length of Ephel Düath range separating Gondor from Mordor. For better or worse, Nag Kath was back in the Reunited Kingdom. After twenty years, he hoped no one was looking for fugitive Elves.

______________------_______________

North Ithilien was still largely undeveloped until about twenty miles from the Morgulduin River dividing the two halves. There Nag Kath saw hard work being done. Men were building and repairing and farming this land but still leaving many trees and wildlands to grow naturally. Getting closer to the river there were villages and more folk on the road as well, but along the banks, where one might expect the best farms, no land was tilled at all.

When they reached the river he saw men setting footings for a new bridge. He introduced himself to about twenty workmen on the north bank and a few in a large tent. It was near quitting time. Chief Engineer Durambyn asked if he would like to join them for a half pint and fish. That was the best offer he would get so Nag Kath gladly accepted. With them were Durambyn’s assistant, Heinieth and Architect Finenbrad. This ran to the changeling’s old trade so it wasn’t long until they were talking about all manner of construction that would have bored their women to sobs.

Camp stirred at daybreak with the smells of breakfast. Men here were fed a good meal before their labors. Heinieth walked out of the tent with a cup of strong tea and stood next to Nag Kath looking at the outline of Osgiliath in the distance. The Elf mused, “It must have been something in its day.”

“Aye, it could be again except the water goes bad. It is too flat to keep drinking water from the waste. With spring floods we get fevers.”

Nag Kath turned behind him and remembered the waterpath to the Eiaontal Garden. “Why not run an aqueduct from the massif headwaters to the city. It doesn’t seem very far.”

Durambyn wandered out with his tea and overheard the conversation. He took a sip and said, “That flows from the Morgul Vale. The towers were crushed to rubble but no one will drink the cursed water.”

Heineth added, “Especially after they drowned the black spider.”

Not one to give up easily, Nag Kath ventured, “It looks clean.”

Durambyn turned to look at the pass behind them before saying, “Looks are deceiving. It would solve a lot of troubles, though.”

“How far from there to the city?”

Heinieth this time; “Perhaps twelve leagues. The last third is all flood plain.”

Architect Finenbrad walked out barefoot with his tea. He was in his fifties and on loan from Minas Tirith for the bridge. It was time to get home again and see his grandchildren. The good-natured man chuckled, “Are you fellows solving the problems of the world.”

Hienieth answered, “We are. Nag Kath was curious about chuting water from up there to the city.”

The sage architect sipped his tea and thought, “We have those in Minas Tirith on the south side where the river inside the rock dried-up ages ago.” He looked behind them as well and said, “Job for a younger man. Wish we had that before the pox last year. Water’s rank though.” 

Durambyn turned to Nag Kath and asked, “Here and now, I don’t suppose you are interested in a week’s work? That bank is giving us fits. I could use an extra hand.”

Nag Kath brightened, “Done! What do you need?”

The Elf helped with the crew, organizing hoists and spent time in the sun. He also worked on sketches from different angles to give men perspective. Men waded in the cold water at need but drinking water was carried here from further north.

___________-------___________

Five days later an attendant was laying out his Lord’s attire. “Good morning, Sire. It is a pretty day.”

King Elessar Telcontar was staying in East Osgiliath and would meet Prince Faramir for breakfast before continuing to see the new bridge. This was the last ford spanned on this newly important stretch of road. The two friends left together with sixteen outriders along the north bank of the Neussan. Two hours later they rode up to the working men who hastily assembled and bowed. The engineers and architect were with them but Nag Kath had gone back to the tent for a drawing.

Lord Aragorn pronounced, “Thank you for your good work men. Please, go about your business.” Heinieth took the laborers back to the bank. 

The two lords dismounted. Prince Faramir asked his long-time engineer, “How fares your bridge, Mr. Durambyn?”

“Reasonably well, My Lord. Some of the rocks were stubborn until we threatened them with Dwarves.”

Nag Kath heard the horses and finished what he was doing before walking out of the tent holding several scrolls. The King saw the Elf but it took a few seconds before he realized which Elf. Nag Kath bowed deeply. Elessar walked to fifteen feet and said, “Hello Nag Kath.”

“This is an unexpected pleasure, My Lord.”

“I should imagine. Will you visit Minas Tirith while you are here?”

Nag Kath replied in Sindarin, “I was not sure of my welcome.”

In the common tongue the King said, “You would be most welcome. Please come see me.”

“I would be honored, Sire.”

The King asked the builders, “What are you fellows working on?”

Architect Finenbrad had been on the building committee for years and was comfortable with his liege. “Sire, I am wrestling with the same rock as young Hienieth and Mr. Durambyn. Mr. Kath is an architect too, newly arrived from Dale to help with the renderings. He was even talking about an aqueduct from the headwaters to Osgiliath until we told him about the source. A very ambitious young man, if you ask me!”

Prince Faramir came forward at that. A good friend died of the fever in the city last year and he was sore grieved for the man’s wife and daughter. Looking at Nag Kath he said gravely, “A noble idea indeed, but that water comes from cursed lands and has poisoned men. Folk here have seen this.”

Nag Kath gave that a moment’s thought and stated, “It would be easy enough to test.” He scanned the incredulous faces and then calmly sat in the grass to remove his boots. Everyone, including men who were supposedly working just upstream, watched the young engineer walk waist-deep into the flow. He unfolded his little knife and held it underwater for a few seconds before examining the blade. 

Then, in a story that would outlive his warg adventure, he dunked himself into the river and stood, raising his arm to the sky. The arm began to glow shimmering silver as if encased in a beam of moonlight firing into the sky. The rest of him lit the same color lasting five seconds until fading back to his natural shade. As if he had done no more than wash his face, Nag Kath walked back to his boots and told the Lords of Gondor, “I felt only the slightest evil, though I suppose each headwater stream should be tested individually.”

Reactions ranged from horror to astonishment except for Aragorn who just laughed, “I would be interested in hearing where you learned that trick!”

Nag Kath smiled too, “Dunland.”

Lord Faramir watched his King closely then approached Nag Kath who was pulling on his boots asking, “Is it possible to transport water from those hills to Osgiliath?”

“I am not sure, sir. My comments were in idle passing, but the elements are in place.” Standing-up, he looked to the King, “Sire, do you recall the Eiaontal Garden trough in Rivendell?”

Aragorn looked up the hill for a short while before turning back to the Prince and Elf. Nodding slightly to Faramir, “I do.”

Prince Faramir said to Nag Kath, who, to all-the-world, looked like an oversized farm-lad, “I would hear more of this. What do you need?”

The changeling pointed at the massif and thought aloud, “First to climb those rocks and test the headwater streams. If clean, see which of them can be diverted west into a collection pond before it reaches the river. Then I must ride the line-of-sight towards the city for the lay of the land. Perhaps two or three weeks work for a rough guess.”

Faramir turned to his engineer, “Can you do without him for a month?”

“Aye, My Lord. He was on his way to Belfalas until he made the mistake of giving us good advice.”

The Prince said to Nag Kath gravely, “Would you consider this labor?”

“If the King can wait that long, it would be my pleasure.”

King Elessar laughed again, “I will manage, Nag Kath. Please help Prince Faramir.”

That was the first anyone mentioned he was a Prince. Nag Kath bowed and said, “At your service, My Lord.” Looking to his fellow builders he added, “Though I may need a few of their strong lads.”

The Lords of Gondor parted with the King returning to the White City and the Prince going overland to his capitol of Emyn Arnen. When they were well out of earshot, Durambyn said to Finenbrad, “Well, you’ve got him in arse-deep.”

_____________-------____________

This morning Nag Kath was two days from riding to Dol Amroth where folk were said to resemble him. Now he was un-exiled by the King and considering a great labor. Durambyn looked at the changeling in a combination of awe and curiosity. Architect Finenbrad did not seem troubled at all. The next morning after breakfast, Nag Kath saddled Regalid and added a backpack with food, rope and one of the engineer’s bubble levels along with his art satchel. At the ruins of Minas Morgul he held his hands over the rubble as he had the streams of Mirkwood looking for fell humors. What little taint was left came from the main flow here.

If he continued into Mordor, this road would take him to the pass of Cirith Ungol but he was interested in the first peak to the north. Water poured into the vale from either side of the gap. Nag Kath had Regalid pick his way up the foothills looking for the westernmost stream with enough water to divert due west. One looked promising so he left the horse to graze and hiked from the plain into the rocks. Two hundred feet up he found a long sliver of a pool pounded by a waterfall into a ring of ledge before leaking back to join the Neussan. It tested clean. Even better would be a lower pool so he edged his way to the western lip of the waterfall and tossed a couple rocks down to see where they landed. Masons could build another pool below with a more gradual decline towards the flood plain.

The next day he impounded three of Durambyn’s nervous workers, more rope, a barracks tent and food along with a donkey and Regalid to carry it all. They hiked two days back to the pool and made camp. For the next two days, Nag Kath had them fell a small tree and limb it so the branches only stuck-out half a foot. That was wrapped with the barracks tent to make a crude pipe long enough to reach from the fall to the western edge of the pool. It collapsed twice and everyone was freezing by the time they got it under the waterfall but it worked well enough to show a definite divide between west and south. Nag Kath swam over to the lip to see where the water splashed while the men shuddered.

There was enough light in the day so they broke camp and made a new one near where the water was spilling. The chute failed after a few hours but now Nag Kath knew where it would go if the open side was dammed and the north lip carved away. With creative stone-craft, it could be urged far enough north to form its own course straight to Osgiliath.

After breakfast the men took the donkey back to camp. Nag Kath mounted his transit level on the line of sight from the water supply to Osgiliath. He was three leagues from the new bridge and another seven or eight to the city. There were no hills of consequence in the way but he would not know the valley depths without riding the line. 

He covered about a league a day, stopping to sketch and shoot elevations. That went well until about three leagues from Osgiliath where the aqueduct would have to be raised above the lowlands. Nag Kath got as good a look as he could without riding the horse through stinging brambles. Several ravines would have to be bridged. But it was possible. A mile outside of the city he saw a large, solid red rock about eighty paces by forty by perhaps thirty feet high. He would remember that on the way back.

_____________-------____________

Osgiliath was bustling. Development started at the waterfront after the war and had moved outward since. The capital of Gondor long ago, most of the city was still uninhabited except for squatters, but other areas were open for business. A dozen food smells wafted through the streets at the same time. Nag Kath went to the northern end of the city to be close to the water supply and found a nice inn with its own stable. After seeing to Regalid, he took his satchel and wandered around looking for fountains and pipes. He also scrambled into a bell tower hoping it would not be rung while he was atop. That gave him a good view due east towards the Ephil massif as well as the red rock. He was climbing down when the ringer arrived to sound the ‘late-six’.

He had as much information as he needed so he took the room for an extra night thinking he could make better sense of his notes and sketches with a proper desk and cooking rather than beans and porridge. When those were complete he rode back to camp.

Durambyn spent several hours going over the plans and made a few changes. It was ready for the Prince so they saddled-up the next day and rode to Emyn Arnen where Faramir made his capital. It was a pretty place with rolling hills leading to steeper cliffs on a semi-circle of peaks. They arrived at the Lord’s halls and let his steward know they had arrived.

Usually waiting for a high lord meant looking at one’s fingernails for several hours but Durambyn’s office was here so they studied other projects in progress. The engineer also had a boy tell his wife he would be there after meeting the Prince. At four, an attendant came to the office apologizing profusely and asked if the two could join the Prince for tea. That meant food and Durambyn never missed free food.

Prince Faramir was seated at the head of a small dining table with an attractive blonde woman to his right. Next to her was an older man followed by a middle-aged man, both immaculately dressed. The attendant showed them to the Prince’s left with Durambyn nearest. After bowing they sat and waited. The Prince said, “Thank you for coming. I have been looking forward to this.” 

Durambyn opened by saying, “Thank you, My Lord. I will turn this over to Nag Kath since he has done all of the work.”

The Elf did not look like an Elf. His hair was much shorter than the Elves wore theirs and it was over his ears. His clothes were mannish and not very clean. And weren’t the Elves all gone? Whatever he was, that silver glow was unnatural. Nag Kath followed his introduction by saying, “My Lord, My Lady, gentlemen. Thank you for the opportunity to serve. When we met, we had only mused about the idea of bringing water from the hills to Osgiliath. Those ideas are better formed. I believe it would be possible to collect water from a headwater stream above the Nuessan and channel it through an aqueduct to East Osgiliath, similar to structures used further north.”

The older of the two men asked Durambyn, “Alad, have you given thought to cost and time yet?”

“Nay, Telvin. We are only at possible. Practical will come much later.”

Faramir said, “Forgive me, Mr. Kath, but you hardly seem old enough for experience in such work.” Not to mention turning into a silver statue. No matter. If his engineer trusted the beardless lad and the King liked the fellow, he would see where this led.

Nag Kath smiled, “I started young, sir.” At the second mention of his name the woman gave him a more penetrating gaze. The Elf did not notice because he was unrolling his main plan and sliding it in front of Durambyn so the Prince could see before explaining, “The idea is to direct the nearest stream on the Düathin massif of Cirith Ungol away from the chasm forming the Neussan. From there it would flow into a collection dam below and then travel through a long stone trough to the city. That would require digging and some bridges across ravines to come in high enough to pressure the city fountains.

“This will be a Numenorean effort. The surveying alone will take two years. They were used often to the north as in Moria. Rivendell has them as well and this sketch is the remaining portion of the gate and chute on the Rohan side of Isengard.” That last example was a bit pretentious. The main idea came from the penstock tubes from the orc dam on the Isen that fed the trip-hammer. 

The Lady had heard enough. “Pray, sir. Have you been to Rohan?”

“Long ago, ma’am.”

“And how was it you were there?”

Nag Kath rubbed his smooth chin in kingly fashion and replied, “It is twenty years past, but I helped a train of wounded Rohirrim after the war from the White City to Edoras.”

She smiled sweetly and stunned every man in the room, “Did you have any trouble with wargs this time?”

That brought forth the famous Nag Kath grin, “Nay, My Lady. I think they learned their lesson.”

After that, Prince Faramir couldn’t end the meeting soon enough because he needed to speak to his wife about wargs. Durambyn went home. Nag Kath stayed in a guest apartment. The next morning an attendant asked if he would come to the north garden. Prince Faramir was sitting alone on a stone bench overlooking the flowers. The changeling bowed and the Prince gestured for him to sit.

“You have a colorful past, Mr. Kath.”

“You don’t know the half of it, Prince Faramir.”

“My Lady tells me you killed a pack of wargs with your bare hands.”

“Just one. Is she from Rohan?”

The Prince looked down on the valley and said, “She is Éowyn, sister to King Éomer.”

“I didn’t see the resemblance. She reminded me of Lady Altheras.”

“I knew Lord Altheras in the house of healing.”

“His wife, a lovely woman. He gave me his sword when I had to use my hands.”

The Prince pulled the conversation back to his purpose. “Why would you help my people?”

Nag Kath leaned forward and folded his hands together, “I was just passing through the bridge camp. As conversations among builders go, I wondered why nobody had built a pipe from the springs down to the city when Engineer Durambyn said those waters were fouled by the dark Lord. It seems time has healed the wound." He paused a moment, “A true friend of mine told me to develop my gifts and use them to heal the hurts of man. If my help could keep many from being sick, I count that a blessing, My Lord.”

“Will you do that?”

“I will.”

“And what would you ask of me?”

“Tea in Osgiliath.”


	3. See These Walls Again

**_Chapter 3_ **

**_See These Walls Again_ **

****

He never thought he would be here again. Not ever. The spires on the seventh reached into the clouds. So these were the famous new gates, a combination of mannish and Dwarvish craft. They stayed open during the day as a constant stream of merchants, travelers and soldiers came and went. Was anyone he knew still inside?

Nag Kath would seek everyone in their turn but the royal invitation came first – after a stop to get his bearings. On the third level he knocked on the door of a modest row-house south of the prow. A stout gray-haired woman answered. She had a youngster clinging to her skirt peering around her hip. Nag Kath waved and he smiled. Then he said, “I am looking for Mr. Tallazh. I remember he lived here long ago.”

She smiled and curtseyed, “He still does. If you will come in, I will see if he is receiving.” He had never been inside the home. It was very nice with sketches and painting on most walls and a full bookshelf, a luxury even here in the capital. He scanned the titles while waiting.

A few minutes later Mr. Tallazh walked into the main room and clapped his hands together in delight. He was fit and spry with the same wise eyes and said, “I did not know if we would ever see you. Welcome back!”

“Thank you, Mr. Tallazh. It has been quite a journey.”

“I am sure it has, and please, Amiedes. I think we are past mister. Have a seat.”

Nag Kath smiled, “I will try.” Tea was served. It was the same smell he remembered both from Quastille’s and Mr. Juguesh in Trum Dreng. That was lucky tea. It was too hot to sip just yet so Nag Kath asked, “Please, tell me of your life. I must have missed so much.”

“You are the one with adventures but yes, I will begin. After you left, the King asked my humble advice on matters of trade outside the old borders. Once a month, a man-cart takes me up the hill with other old fellows who talk more than listen. We still get things done occasionally.”

Nag Kath told him about Orthanc and the Huntsman and Elvish places. He talked about Dale and love and loss. Mr. Tallazh knew that by heart. And of all things; the Elf actually spoke a little Elvish! After half an hour, Nag Kath asked, “Amiedes, I hope you got my letter from Dunland.”

“Oh yes, forgive me. I should have mentioned that first. Yes I got it with the messengers too. They arrived safe and sound. The ladies stayed with me for a week and then found an apartment on the other side of the prow. Mrs. Skilleth died a few years ago but I still see Talereth. She married well and has two children. His name is Toroldinar, officer of foot.” Mr. Tallazh took a piece of elegant notepaper from his side table and wrote her address. “It is next to a bright blue building on the fourth level, north-side.”

Nag Kath leaned forward, “And now Mis … Amiedes, I need a little advice” He went into how he was discovered in Gondor and that tomorrow he was to present himself to the King to discuss, among other things, the possibility of an aqueduct from Minas Morgul to Osgiliath. “I have experience in design and building work and have some good ideas, but this will be a project not seen since the last great kings. It seems a noble cause and I have time. You know the moving parts. Do you have any recommendations on how I state my case?”

Tallazh paused for quite a while and asked, “Are those sketches in your folio?”

Nat Kath unrolled the same ones he showed Prince Faramir. The elderly advisor studied them carefully with a pair of half spectacles. Folding the specs back into his pocket he said, “The main job will be organizing who will help. Be prepared to require, not ask, that good people be made available. And say you want nothing to do with the money. They have to provide that. All the surveying work should not be too expensive, give them time to count coppers for moving all those rocks.

“Now, and this is important, you need to discover if the King or the Prince is driving the cart.”  
  
Nag Kath said, “I think I know. The Prince has seen this already and is enthusiastic. I suspect the King will make sure it is built. I will let both know that I am not the door-mat as subtly as I can.”

Tallazh sat back in his chair and put his palms on his thighs. “I cannot help but marvel at you, Nag Kath. When you left you could barely speak a sentence. And now … you have done well. I am proud of you. I know you have things to do. When you have more time, come by and have tea with your old friend. And please visit Talereth. I know that was a hard parting but she landed on her feet and I am sure she would like to see you.”

Nag Kath found an inn near the prow. Dinner was not appealing so he walked along the rail until he found a bench looking at the river and sat down for several hours to breath-in the air of his first real home. It seemed natural but also surreal. He thought he would be in Belfalas. Now he was waiting for the King of Gondor.

The next morning Nag Kath reported at eight with the other supplicants at the main hall. He had only been to the palace under arrest. A throng of folk waited for adjudication. Except for dismissing known complainers, their pleas would be heard by administrative staff with very few making it to higher or highest ears. After leaving his name he sat in the same place where the fat gaoler had slept against him a generation before. An hour later, an attendant walked to him and quietly said the King would see him at five that afternoon. With time to kill, Nag Kath went back to his room to change and strolled the city. Minas Tirith was up in the world. The rubble and debris had been cleared away. Every level had been promoted a notch in status, even the humble first with fresh paint and sober soldiers.

Nearing five he was shown directly to the King’s study and made comfortable in the same chair Mrs. Skilleth used. The office looked over the north-side gardens in full bloom. Not long after, King Elessar arrived and dismissed the guard. Nag Kath stood and bowed. They sat down and Aragorn said, “I did not know if we would see you here again.”

“I doubted that myself, Sire.”

“I met the two ladies from Dunland and got a letter from Gandalf before he left. But I have not heard since. Have you been well?”

Nag Kath nodded, “I have. I fought my way to the Elven Kingdom and stayed a while there and then lived in Dale for eighteen very good years. I married and spent considerable time designing works for the city.”

“Did your wife accompany you here?”

“I fear not, My Lord. Eniece died last year. That was my call to go forth as Gandalf advised to understand my gifts.”

Aragorn said more gravely, “I heard about those gifts. Wargs?”

That story would not die. “I have healing skills too. On my way here I stopped to see Radagast and visited both Rivendell and the Elven Kingdom now that I can read Sindarin.”

The King shook his head and said, “Those must be lonely places now.”

“I only saw three Elves in Imladris but I had a grand time with the Elf-keepers. There were seven plus their wives and a youngster who was probably a thousand years old. We sang songs and told tales. I learned much more from them than the books. I think they are gnomes, though none admitted as much.”

Aragorn had heard of the creatures that keep hallowed Elvish places against their return. He asked, “And Thranduil’s Halls; are those empty?”

“Nay, Sire. The Nandor Elves remain in their thousands.”

That was unexpected. The worker Elves? Aragorn supposed they were welcome to it and Lorien too. “Did they say why?”

“In no uncertain terms, My Lord. They did not look forward to serving those they called the High Elves in a new place. They would stay in their beloved home and resist the call of Valinor, though it may mean diminution and mortal lives. Fearnold said they will meet Mandos on their own terms.” 

Nag Kath leaned forward in his chair, “Speaking of terms; am I truly welcome in your realm King Elessar?”

“Yes, and I am sorry it took so long for you to learn.”

“Please, Sire. Do not trouble yourself. I have led a fulfilling life. I have two splendid children and was welcome in Dale. I will visit them again.”

“I keep up with my brother King Bard. Those lands are much like Gondor.”

The Nag Kath grin, “He has even better stories about me. As it happens, my daughter is his sister. It is an entertaining tale best told over Dorwinion wine.” As the King smiled, the Elf changed the subject, “I told Lord Faramir about the aqueduct. He seemed interested but has concerns over my credentials.”

“Leave that with me. His Lady wife is sister to King Éomer. You caused quite a sensation up there.”

“I met her, Sire.” Nibbling at the subject, “Other noble ladies were concerned as well.”

Now it was the King’s turn to grin, “I think Gandalf put those to rest. She even let me put our picture in the study. And speaking of pictures, let us have a look.”

Nag Kath opened his satchel and pulled the main sketches of the collection pool and noodlings of bridges and ditches borrowed from the north. As the King looked the Elf said, “This is not the Argonath, but it will certainly be the largest construction since the days of your kingly ancestors. The surveying and preparation work will take two years. If Architect Finenbrad is right, some of those folk will have to be trained. Property will have to be acquired. I have Dwarf friends in Erebor to consult on all those rocks”

Remembering Tallazh’s recommendation, “And Sire, I need to know the relationship between you and Prince Faramir so I do not step on Lordly toes.”

“We speak as one. Most of the money will come from here.”

The King was not expecting what came next. Nag Kath said matter-of-factly, “Since there will be so much preliminary work, I will provide the first hundred Florin myself. When that runs low, the Purse can manage from there.”

The King started to protest but Nag Kath kept talking, “Please, Sire. I think that will let everyone know that whatever they have heard, which is mostly true, that I am to be taken seriously. And I do not want to be cap-in-hand for niggling expenses when I should be working.”

Aragorn nodded. He would have required the same thing before taking on a project of this magnitude. “Very well, what do you need from me?”

With his least Elvish grin of the day, “I need you to throw a party.”


	4. From the Ground Up

**_Chapter 4_ **

**_From the Ground Up_ **

At seven the next morning, an indecent hour by municipal standards, Nag Kath visited Architect Finenbrad. He was in early with hot tea ready and glad to see the fellow he caused so much trouble at the bridge. The Elf opened by saying, “Yes indeed, I am in deep. The King has decided to pursue the aqueduct.”

Finenbrad slurped the too hot tea and smiled without guilt. “That is a good project. How can I help?”

Nag Kath said, “Four surveyors. I know the local lads would rather sleep in their own beds. Can men be trained for distance work in a reasonable time?”

“I don’t see why not. They won’t all be greenbottoms.”

In a gray area of civic finance, Nag Kath broached, “Would you consider finding and training such fellows? This would be a private contract with the approval of people we know and love.”

“Certainly. I retire in a month so I am available then – sooner if this is official. What did you have in mind?”

Now it was time to see old friends. Nag Kath walked down to the second level and knocked on the door of the Quastille School. To his surprise, a taller, balder Timalen opened the door. He did not recognize Nag Kath until the Elf said, “I thought you would have graduated by now.”

With that Tim gave him a bear hug and said, “I do not believe my eyes! Come in, come in.” Calling down to the kitchen, “Marie, come out and meet Nag Kath.” Tim told him to sit in one of the chairs and flopped in another. A short, dark-haired woman appeared wearing an apron and Tim repeated, “Marie, this is Nag Kath. You remember me telling you about him.”

Marie smiled and assumed, “Would it be fair to say he has not offered you tea?”

“Fair and typical, I should think. Cool if you have it.” She walked over to a jug in the same place it had always been. Turning to Tim he asked, “Yours was not the face I was expecting. How are you here?”

Tim took his mug of tea and said, “Quastille died about eight years after you left. I was making my way as a sculptor and renting the bottom level. Sylveth decided to sell and wouldn’t you know? The fellow who was going to buy it married her. Looks just like her! Instead she sold it to me and I reopened the school. I’ve got three students downstairs beetling away right now.”

Nag Kath thanked Marie for his tea before saying, “I hope she is doing well.”

“She is. She is!” Tim took one of dozens of scrap sketches lying around and wrote her address. Handing it to Nag Kath he said, “Please go visit her. I am sure she would like to see you. Her married name is Multö.”

Marie sat in the third chair and listened to almost an hour of catching-up. Nag Kath talked about the wizards and the Huntsman and life in Dale. After a decent interval Tim asked, “Forgive me, old friend, but wasn’t there some stickiness when you left?”

The Elf thought for a moment and said, “Less than I thought. I was trying to sneak through Ithilien when the King himself rode up. He welcomed me back and said I should present myself at the palace. You could have knocked me over with a feather! Now he wants me to work for him.”

Marie had heard the stories about this fellow but wasn’t expecting someone visiting on royal command who hobnobbed with wizards and ten-foot specters. Nag Kath begged pardon to make a couple more visits but they would all go out for a fine dinner soon. As he was leaving Tim mentioned, “Oh, it seems you are almost famous. One of your sketches sold for half a nipper last month – picture of a woman having dinner.”

Nag Kath kept his face straight but that hurt.

________________--------________________

His next stop took a little more nerve. He dawdled checking the number and the blue building twice before knocking. The door swung wide open revealing a boy of about fifteen with a riot of curly black hair.

The Elf said, “Hello, I am Nag Kath and I am looking for Talereth. I was told she lives here.”

The lad gave him a long look and said, “Wait here” before shutting the door. 

Less than a minute later, the door swung wide again and Tal put her fingers over her open mouth the way she did when surprised. “Oh my goodness! I … I … come in! Make yourself at home.” Pointing to a couch in the main room of a very nice home, “Ecthialladrin, this is Nag Kath!”

“I know mother. He told me.”

Nag Kath thought with a name like that most young men would be surly. ‘Orc Six’ was no grand sobriquet, but at least it was over quickly. His mother was not to be sassed, “Well then you had better go see what Mrs. Tippi has for our guest, hmmm?”

Ecthialladrin retreated down a hall while his ma arranged her dress. Nag Kath said, “I got your address from Mr. Tallazh. He is well.”

“He is a dear man. He opened doors for us when we arrived. You have the nicest friends, Nag Kath.” That was followed by her same intoxicating smile. The sentence was barely out when a maid arrived with a tray of finger-foods. 

Nag Kath had no idea how a woman with Tal’s appetite kept her figure after children. She was largely unchanged with traces of gray in her dark red hair. She asked, “When did you find you weren’t banished?”

“A couple weeks ago. I was traveling south in Ithilien and the King himself told me to come visit. I wasn’t about to say no so here I am. I confess; of all the people I wanted to see, this was the visit that worried me most. Have you been well, Tal?”

She became very still before replying, “Yes. I married a wonderful man and have two lovely children. You met Ecc. My firstborn is a daughter. She is learning languages and I’ll have you know, she is an artist.” Nag Kath raised his eyebrow. Again, she put her fingers over her mouth before saying, “Too young for you, dear Nag. Now, what of your adventures! I have held court with the last charge of the Revanthars so many times no one wants to hear it again.”

He told her about the Wild Huntsman and the Elves. “I moved to Dale and met a lovely woman. We married and were very happy until she died last year. Eniece reminded me a bit of you.” He became more serious, “That was when I decided to take Gandalf’s advice to widen my horizons.”

She said, “I am sorry Nag Kath. “Did Amiedes tell you Mrs. Skilleth died? A bit too fond of the barley spirits, she was. But feisty to the end! And before you ask; my healing ability did not amount to much. Swaddling rashes are about the limit of my skill.” Looking at the sun level on the wall, “Ectilliad should be home any moment. I would love for you to meet him.”

“I will, but I have to prepare for a trip to the seventh and an errand in the east. When I am back, we will have time to relive the Revanthars over dinner.”

She kissed his cheek.

_____________--------______________

Nag Kath supposed he was now a citizen of two countries. Dale would always be special and he planned to return. Free and clear in Gondor would make that easier. And now he had something important to do. It would test many of the things he learned.

As a base of operation Nag Kath would buy homes in both Minas Tirith and Osgiliath that could double as his offices. He needed another Brenen, maybe two! To start he opened an account for twenty of his cash Florin at the Royal Bank and executed a transfer of three of the four hundred Florin from Dale. It would take months to verify but he couldn’t spend it there either. 

Then he had estate agent Finad Duluthar scour the fourth level south of the prow for just the right place. He wanted a large, two or three story home where the ground floor could serve as headquarters and he would live above it. He was in no hurry. The place could need repair as long as it was sound with a stable and water close by. 

A few days later the estate agent found the right place on the fourth level not far from the switchback. Unusually, it was stand-alone on the left side rather than sharing common walls like most of the rock-hard city. One might have thought the gap was Nazgûl damage but it was just a rock from up the hill that flattened a thirty-foot stretch of apartments. It set him back nine Florin. The home was bigger version of his first place in Dale with an open first floor – more for storage than living with only two windows. The second floor was the main room with another, outside entrance. The sleeping quarters were on the third with balconies. A block stable was a hundred paces further west on the third-level. He sketched out what he wanted in the way of furniture and found firms that managed such things.

Each of the three stories had its own stone stove plus a smaller one on the second for cooking. Before the builders and decorators arrived, Nag Kath took the new-fangled ash screen out from under the stove on the first floor. In the space he slipped the mithril hair circlet and some cash before grouting rocks on the front of the slide to match the ones on the stove. Back in place, it would look like an older-style stove that one had to shovel the ashes out by hand. 

It was time to visit Osgiliath again. Gili was a sprawling graveyard of towers, some still standing, where no one lived above the second floor. He stayed in the same inn and visited the city works building, asking for the water manager. A young fellow came out and said Mr. Sepulvath was quite busy and would he like to make an appointment? Nag Kath replied, “This is a matter for Prince Faramir.” The man disappeared into a warren of corridors and came back quickly to usher him through.

Mr. Sepulvath was a round, florid man with strands of jet black hair placed from one ear to the other as if they had been raked. Like other administrators Nag Kath knew, he had a key ring on a fine chain across his vest. The man rose to no great height and shook hands as his assistant closed the door.

Reseated, he asked, “How can I be of assistance, sir?”

Nag Kath answered, “Thank you for seeing me on short notice.” He pulled rank to get in but he would need this man’s help beginning today and wanted to be on very good terms. “My name is Nag Kath and I am doing preliminary work to see if the headwaters of the Nuessan can be brought here to replace your current supply. It seems to have lost its Mordor taint. Please understand this is in early discussions and must remain confidential.”

Sepulvath nodded as Nag Kath continued, “I am seeking ways to get it here but then there is what to do with it.”

The water manager could not contain his enthusiasm, “Mr. Kath! You are a blessed soul! How can my humble office help?”

This was going well, “Mr. Sepulvath, do you have a map of the current city supply?”

He did indeed and went to a large rack like Annas’ cubbies but much deeper to withdraw a large rolled sheet showing the pipes in the city with dozens of erasures and additions. They studied it for a few minutes before Nag Kath asked, “If you could control the flow, where would you put the distribution tanks?”

Short, fat fingers pointed at four points east of the river. The western bank was a separate city and was supplied, somewhat weakly, from the Mindolluin Stream above Minas Tirith since ancient times. If there was enough, new water could be piped across the bridge.

It was time to spend some money. Nag Kath took a Florin from his pocket and gave it to the manager saying, “This is an official expense. I would like you to hire someone to work only on this project or do your work for the time you spend. This will take years, but I believe it will happen and when it does, there will be thirsts to slake. There is more where that came from.”

He left the big rock out of the conversation. No reason to get the land speculators excited just yet. Before he left, Nag Kath asked the beaming water manager to recommend an estate agent for his own residence in the city. He was assured Mr. Portrous was the man to see. The woman at the property office said he was out with a client but would return after lunch. Nag Kath ate his own lunch and returned to explain he wanted a sprawling home and outbuildings with its own stable. Riders would be coming and going all the time. 

That night Nag Kath engaged in one of his best talents; acting the earnest lad wondering aloud about things drinkers could not but help but answer. There was a tavern about a quarter mile from the big rock. He tied Regalid to the post and went inside. The stew was inedible but the loaf was fresh and the ale fair. 

“Tell me, good sir, that large hill just past, it must be made of stout rock.”

The good sir was probably in his forties and had the broken nose veins of a man who knew his ale. “Aye, it is a piece rendered off the mountain long ago, must be two hundred feet long.”

The young man observed, “And now sheep graze at the base.”

“And goats! They climb up and eat the bushes. The ground around is too rocky to till.”

In a voice that suggest only the most passing interest Nag Kath offered, “Not much return for the farmer then.”

“That is old Enoch Farantie’s land. He has plenty more.”

The next morning, a young fellow knocked on the door of the Farantie home a half mile north of the rock. The farmer’s large dogs might have taken a piece out of a mannish visitor but they only circled and sniffed as the lad waited on the porch. An attractive woman in her thirties opened the door and looked at the tall, pale fellow and then at the dogs who had not made a sound. The visitor said, “Good morning ma’am. I am an artist and wanted to know if I could climb the large stone. I think a picture of Osgiliath from there would bring a few coppers.”

Since he was still alive, he may as well come in. She showed Nag Kath to the main room where sat an elderly man in a comfortable chair. There was some art on his walls. The woman walked over to him and spoke in his ear. The gentleman noticed the vague shape in his hall. “What can I do for you, young man?”

“Good morning, Mr. Farantie. I came to ask permission to paint pictures on top of your rock.” Nag Kath had to repeat that after the man raised a hearing trumpet to his ear.

Farantie looked to what might be his grand-daughter and said, “No, I don’t mind.” Then he gestured for the woman to come close and asked her a question before looking back to Nag Kath and saying, “You didn’t have any trouble with those hounds?”

That earned him a grin, “Nay, Mr. Farantie. Dogs like me.”

“Very well. You might see my sons or laborers out there too. Just tell them you spoke to me. Come back and let us see one of your pictures.”

No one bothered him as he climbed the rock except two goats trying to pick his pockets. When they tried to steal the paper from the easel, a wargish snarl sent them running for their lives. One sketch was back towards the mountains. Two others were of Osgiliath, one for the Faranties. Then he set his bubble level on the easel and found the point to the east that corresponded with his height. That was marked on the first sketch. Raising the front of the level with a scrap of leather he made another mark.

As he climbed in the saddle he thought the kindly Farantie family would get a fine sketch for the effort and a generous settlement for their rock.

_____________--------______________

Nag Kath had asked the King to think of an excuse for a diplomatic reception. That wasn’t necessary. A conference of Free Peoples was scheduled in two weeks and Nag Kath was invited. The renowned skills of many folk would be a benefit in bringing clean water to the river and this would be a chance to sound them out on generalities. Again, tailors had to be dissuaded from “Elvish Elements” but he needed court clothes for his new job. 

Nag Kath walked into the reception room after most of the guests had arrived. There were ambassadors, wives, embassy staff and a number of the King’s men, about seventy, all tallied. He was not expecting to know any but that changed quickly. 

“Lord Kath!”

From across the room he saw Colonel Rosscranith. It had been four years since they laid eyes on each other. Nag Kath walked to him and shook his hand in the Dalish fashion. It is hard to squeeze a Northman into stately clothes but the Colonel cut a fine figure. The beauty here was that Rosscranith would introduce him fondly as a hale-fellow from Dale which avoided prevarications up-front. Rosscranith was the new ambassador of Bard’s court and liked Minas Tirith. Nag Kath said he might be here for a while and they must have some Dorwinion wine together. And if the Ambassador had mail service, he would love to send his royal step-daughter a letter. It is always nice to hit the red stripe on the first shot! 

Rosscranith’s wife Journa joined them a minute later. Nag Kath had met her several times before. Courtly dressmakers had a harder time with her Ladyship. Tall, broad-shouldered Northwomen always look like they are on the verge of splitting fine garments down the back. She was always pleasant and seemed to like the posting here as well.

The Colonel caught the arm of Ambassador and Mrs. Fouringalas of Belfalas. That was technically part of the kingdom but the fiefs maintained diplomatic missions as if they were separate countries. Regions with no such status also had folk here to represent their constituents. The ambassador, as one would expect of a professional diplomat, was cordial and glad to meet Captain Kath. She looked at him strangely. He was not sure if he reminded her of someone or her vision was weak. His hair was over his ears for the occasion.

They were on the verge of another introduction when the herald announced the royal couple. Everyone in the room turned towards the entrance and bowed deeply. As they usually did, the King and Queen bowed as well. Lord Aragorn said, “Friends, thank you for coming tonight. It is always a pleasure to see you. Please be merry and make new friends.”

This would have nothing to do with the aqueduct but Nag Kath excused himself and approached two Hobbit couples in their fine brocade vests and woolly feet. They were Mr. and Mrs. Rembyl Higgenboth and Ambassador and Mrs. Lemuel Took. The Elf told them of his friends in Dale and knew some of them had family in the Shire. If the press of official duties wasn’t overwhelming, perhaps they could enjoy a fine meal at leisure.

That is an offer few Hobbits refuse. Mr. Higgenboth gave him a card. 

When Nag Kath turned, the King and Queen were approaching. He bowed and waited. Arwen looked just as she had and said, “Thank you for coming, Mr. Kath. It has been quite some time.”

“Indeed, My Lady. Thank you for your gracious welcome.” That could apply to tonight or generally.

“The King has told me of your ambitions. I think those worthy and wish you the best of success. There is much to consider, I am sure.”

“There is, My Lady. Thankfully, I made pictures of your peoples’ building history in Rivendell. I confess; most were in Quenya which I do not speak.”

Arwen asked, “Think you to include such artifacts? That is most flattering, Mr. Kath.”

“I hope to, My Lady. And please, Nag Kath is fine. My crude drawings are practical but lack grace. Your folk make beautiful things with less material so that may help as well.”

“Then I am glad you have that tool.” She had accepted Gandalf’s explanation of Nag Kath’s origins years before. That this creature had been admitted to Rivendell supported the contention.

He said with a smile, “Logass was a great help.”

She wracked her memory before saying almost to herself, “Of course. They would be there now.”

King Elessar spoke, as arranged, “Let us meet the Dwarvish Ambassador.”

He followed the royals to a pair of Dwarf couples who bowed deeply. The King said, “Thank you for coming, my friends. Ambassador Tulinn, may I introduce Nag Kath who is recently visiting from Dale? Please enjoy yourselves.”

That was all the King needed to say. For half an hour, Nag Kath and the four Dwarves regaled each other with stories of the north. Women of Durin’s Folk have no trouble airing their views. And this was a good fellow of an Elf, not snotty at all! They had come from Erebor after visiting Rohan two years ago and knew a few of the folk Nag Kath knew. He showed them the knife made by Master Golord. There was no reason to discuss building now. Ale would be had soon with his new friends. 

It came as no surprise that other than the Queen, there were no Elves. The Silvans in the north were not really a country. It was said Legolas of the Woodland realm was abroad, but he came and went as he liked. Nag Kath considered the party a huge success but there was one more pleasant surprise. He said to a passing couple, “Mr. Maedos. How good to see you again.”

Third son Davet was escorting his wife to the finger-foods. He stopped and cudgeled his brain for the memory. The Elf helped, “I am Nag Kath. I had the pleasure of drawing your honored father the Shurat some years ago.”

The younger Maedos opened his mouth in an “O” before saying, “Oh yes, in the west. He is still well and hardy. I thought you might have aged like the rest of us.”

“Not yet.”

Mrs. Maedos did not look the part of a diplomatic wife. She was small, dark and Dunnish, an Orthanc miner’s wife in finery. Smiling looked like it took a great effort and Davet prompted the conversation, “Doussha, this is Mr. Kath who made the picture of father in the gallery.”

She mumbled, “How nice to meet you.”

Davet added with a fine grin, “I heard about the mayor’s boy before we left long years ago. They will remember you better there than I did this evening.”

“No casualties, I hope.”

Mr. Maedos shook his head, “A few bumps and bruises.”

Nag Kath said, “I may be much in the White City. When I am better established, perhaps we will meet again to hear of your lands.”

_____________--------______________

Seeing Mr. Tallazh made him think of the College of Scholars. If anyone could find out how these massive buildings were created, it was them.

In his studies he found how many things were assembled but almost nothing about the sweat needed. There would have to be a market-town of workers, families, animals all needing to be fed and sheltered. Gondor did not have legions of orcs or slaves who would work until they dropped.

The word was out that the tall blonde man was a friend of King Elessar so the clerk of the archives was helpful. After a few questions he was directed to Scholar Heralda, a tall, thin man in his forties with the red cap of tenure and thick spectacles. 

“Thank you for seeing me, Scholar Heralda. I am Nag Kath and I was told you might be able to help me with questions about the ancients.”

In a voice that sounded on the verge of coughing, Heralda replied, “Perhaps, my work has been on Numenorean and early Gondoran society.”

“I seek information on large building projects. So far I have come across a great deal about techniques and which kings ordered the work but precious little on the people who labored, how many, where they lived and what they ate. In your research have you found those references?”

Again; the near cough, “As you said; precious little. I do not think the great men of the day thought it noteworthy.”

Nag Kath explained that he was in Orthanc when the White Council archives were disbursed. “Many of them were lists or Purse records that bored the readers to tears. Perhaps the record of ordering five hundred pairs of boots matches the year a sewer was dug. Forgive me, I am clutching at straws.”

Scholar Heralda asked, “This is the water project isn’t it?” Without waiting for the answer he continued, “After the war my father caught a river-palsy. I will do what I can for you.”

“Thank you. I am interested in anything on their building techniques. And forgive my tawdry question, but does your sponsor allow individual compensation? This is not intended to be a voluntary project.”

With what could arguably be called a smile, Heralda answered, “I am sure the Gerandur Endowment will appreciate any help easing their burdens.”

Nag Kath’s card and a nipper found themselves sliding across the table.

No matter how these investigations played, at the source they would have to move a lot of rock. All of the streams in those mountains eventually made a sharp turn south into the Neussan. They needed to convince one otherwise. In the Fourth Age, that meant Dwarves. Nag Kath presented himself at the Embassy of Master Tulinn. He was told the Ambassador was in a meeting but should be free shortly. Knowing what he did about Dwarvish scheduling, Nag Kath sat in the reception room and studied his notes. Tulinn second-in-command came out about an hour later to shake hands with the towering boy and ask what he was drinking. Refusal would be an insult so he said whatever the Ambassador was having.

After they were seated and served, the Elf started with, “Thank you for seeing me Master Tulinn. I am working on a project to deliver water from the Morgul Vale to Osgiliath. It will take great knowledge and skill in working mountain stone and I thought first of Durin’s Folk. The primary cascade would be along the lines of the Moria Stair Bridge. Would your people have an interest in such work?”

Tulinn lit a pipe of the best Shire leaf. As he shook the match out he said, “Considering who this is for, I have to be diplomatic. Our masons and cutters are occupied but there may be engineers in the great halls if Gondor can provide the men. You did not hear this from me, but the King’s dear friend Gimli of the Glittering Caves is the one to ask.”

“Forgive me, Master Tulinn, I know very little of these caves.”

“There are caverns leading away from Helm’s Deep in Rohan. It is more extensive than men knew. Thanks to our alliance in the war, Dwarves have been ceded a colony there with our folk from Erebor and wandering longbeards. It may eventually be as important as Erebor, perhaps even Khazad-Dûm in its day.”

Tulinn took another puff and said more gravely, “Then there is the issue of you.”

“You are well-informed, Ambassador. Both the Rohirrim and Durin’s Folk seem to have taken my original condition in stride, though few know the details. This is important enough that I will defer to King Elessar’s choice of emissary. If I am chosen, I will go with goodwill and without fear.”

The bowl exhausted, Tulinn placed the pipe on the table and added, “Speak with your King. For what it is worth, I will have a letter of introduction delivered to you shortly.”

“Nag Kath grinned and sipped his ale, “And now for the important question. How do you get Rohan red in the White City?”

“Tulinn raised a good point, Nag Kath.”

“I agree, Sire. I leave this entirely to you. Although, a letter from you to another member of your Fellowship worked well, even when I had scant words of my own.”

King Elessar smiled and conceded, “Very well. Go with my blessing. I will write a note to go with the Ambassador’s.”

_____________--------______________

Nag Kath waited three days until Tulinn’s packet arrived and then took Regalid at best speed up the Great West Road. It looked the same as the first time although he saw it much faster. There were now a few inns at stream crossings for oats and rest. He did stop at the hill where he spoke with the warags. On the afternoon of his seventh day out he rode to the gates of Edoras. 

The way was shut. A guard called down, “What is your business?”

He shouted back, “I am here to visit my old friend and drink ale at the Falcon’s Lair.” That was good enough and a man below opened one of the two doors.

Edoras was still dreary. Nag Kath turned Regalid down the high street until he reached what was the Falcon’s Lair. It was still a tavern now operating under the name of The Rose and Hare. Nobody knew Dornlas. He retraced his steps up two blocks and tried in another bar. Several people knew him in here. One who had not punished the local ale too hard even knew where he lived.

The house was well kept with a small garden on the side. Good for Dornlas! It seemed to Nag Kath that he had been knocking on a lot of unexpected doors lately, this one a little less so. A lanky, bearded man opened and immediately recognized his friend. They shook hands in the manner of Rohirrim and Dornlas walked him into a pleasant main room saying, “I always knew you would come back. It is time for an ale!”

“You are right, my friend.”

Dornlas walked to the kitchen corner and pulled two half pints from a house-cask. As he brought them over he asked, “When did you arrive, Nag Kath?”

“Just now. I am finally on my way to Helm’s Deep, hoping it is not so dangerous these days.”

“Probably not.”

A pair of twin girls, Nag Kath guessed about fourteen, came from the back rooms and smiled timidly. Joining them was the face he drew so many years ago. Nag Kath stood, bowed and was about to thoroughly embarrass himself. Dornlas saw the crash coming, “Nag Kath, I would like you to meet my wife Annlie and my daughters Annulka and Torenne.”

So; not Kateese, but not far from the tree. Annlie said, “Please, enjoy your ale.” Then to the girls, “Be home before dinner. I need you to help with the fish.” The twins bowed respectfully to both parents and delighted in visiting their friends, two doors up. Annlie walked to the guest and bowed.

Dornlas said, “Forgive me, wife. Nag Kath is the fellow who drew your sister. It is a short story with a happy ending.”

The Elf managed, “I am pleased to meet you Annlie.”

She said, “Please stay for dinner, if fish is fine.”

“I love fish, thank you.”

Nag Kath gave much the same version of his life he had in Minas Tirith. Dornlas and Annlie were fascinated. Having soldiered together, in a manner of speaking, Nag Kath spoke of the sword-work needed too. “And you, Dornlas? Life seems to be treating you well.”

Dornlas held Annlie’s hand in the chair next to his and said, “Yes, I have been fortunate. I came into a stake …” with a wink “… and bought a small shop. I sold that and bought a bigger one. Now I have a few and businesses in them. The girls are our only children and they are very fine indeed.”

Nag Kath said, “No conversation of old times is complete without asking where others are now. First; Sergeant Matelars?”

“He just retired. His oldest is a corporal in the King’s guard. Tall, tough fellow, perfect for the job.”

“I think I remember him peeping around his mother’s skirt.”

Dornlas grinned, “He is over that now.”

“Same King?

“Aye, and he’s been a good ‘un. He started late but he has a brood of kids now. The King has trouble with his back so he avoids long rides, but he is still hale and lordly.”

“I should pay my respects. I don’t remember him being over-fond of me but there are forms to observe.”

Dornlas grinned, “It is so odd to hear you Dalish drawal. I keep expecting you to stop in mid-sentence thinking yourself done.”

Nag Kath chuckled, “I am at the same stage of Sindarin. Now, tell me of Lord Altheras.”

“Fraid your string ends there. He died five years ago and was buried at his home. The King had a large memorial here, biggest since Erkenbrands’s, they say. Do you still have his sword?”

“I do. But it is in Dale along with most of my things.”

Annlie asked, “You were much there. Do you miss it?”

“At times. Thankfully, I make friends as I travel. Now, I need a little advice; I am here to visit the Dwarves of the Glittering Caves. What can you tell me of them?”

Dornlas shook his head, “Never been there. Our people used the caves for storage and defense but nobody ever wanted to go in very far. The Dwarves are fair silly about them. It is said they go a mile through the mountain with jewels and silver. I do not know more than that. Dwarves are very closed-lipped about their holes in the ground.”

Dinner was delicious. The girls were well-mannered and everyone retired shortly after dark. Nag Kath apologized for not knowing if he could stop on his way back.

Regalid got appreciative looks walking up the avenue to Great Hall of Meduseld. They know their horses in Rohan. Nag Kath tied him to the rail and climbed the stairs. Showing King Elessar’s letter got him to the door where he told another guard who looked a lot like Matelars his name and business. The guard showed him inside and took the letter to the chamberlain. There was no one to ask so Nag Kath sat on the bench.

Not long after, the chamberlain came out himself and asked if the visitor would follow him into the hall. They walked back where King Éomer was sitting at a long table with good sun. Nag Kath bowed and waited.

Éomer called, “You’re back! Come, sit here.” He pointed across the table from him. An attendant brought hot tea. “So, what brings you this way again?”

“I need a word with Gimli of the Glittering Caves and I brought Your Lordship a letter from King Elessar.”

“Then you haven’t come to hunt our wargs?”

“Wrong season. Your Lady Sister asked me the same.”

The King wrestled with a bread roll while saying, “That is a long ride to deliver a letter.”

“Lord Aragorn and your brother-in-law are considering a water project that could benefit from Dwarvish craft. I am helping so I volunteered to come.”

“Helm’s Deep wasn’t so good for your lot. Gimli will remember that well.”

“That was for the better, My Lord.”

King Éomer finished his bite and said, “Very well. You are welcome in my lands and I wish you success with the Dwarves.”

“There is one service you could do me, King Éomer; I do not know if the Dwarves have their own entrance or if I go through the fortress.”

“They have their own but you would never find it.” The King looked to a steward standing by and the man brought paper and pencil. Éomer scribbled a note and said, “If you go through the castle, this will get you to the caves. The Dwarves will decide past that.”


	5. The Deep

**_Chapter 5_ **

**_The Deep_ **

Helm’s Deep was a two day ride from Edoras in warm, dry weather. It must have been hell for the people fleeing on foot twenty years ago. The smaller gate was open but he did need to check with the sentries. They waved a Sergeant over who looked at the King’s note before saying. “Welcome to Helm’s Deep. That is a handsome horse. I’m afraid the caves are no place for him. If you will ride to the right about a hundred paces there is a small stable. Just tell them Sarn't Atlie said to bring him and they will do you right. 

“Now, sir, you have walking to do. All the way around the fortress you will come to the rear door that takes you to a meadow along the Deeping Stream. Follow that to the cleft between two cliffs and you’ll see a Dwarf door with their symbols outside. Just knock there.” In a tone to suggest he didn’t say it, “Might be a wait.”

The door was mounted in a sheer rock face with a bell pull. He rang it. A few minutes later he rang it again. Perhaps ten minutes later a young Dwarf, whose beard was merely a foot long, opened the door and stared at him until his eyes adjusted to the sun. Nag Kath said, “Good afternoon, Sir Dwarf. I am Nag Kath and I seek an audience with the Lord of the Glittering Caves.”

When the sentinel did not even blink Nag Kath added, “I have a letter for him from Elessar of Gondor.”

That got his attention. “Please wait here. I will tell my superiors.” The heavy door shut with hardly a sound. An hour later, an older Dwarf opened the door and squinted in the sun until he saw Nag Kath. In a booming voice, “Come this way.” Nag Kath hoisted his bag and followed in the long, dark corridor.

For the first hundred paces it was just a mine shaft but then the tunnel opened towards a pale light. Clearing the mouth of the tunnel showed a vast chamber of many colored stones bathed in streams of light from holes in the mountain above. Erebor was all solid gray but this had areas of purest white where minerals had dripped from sharp spikes above to make dragon’s teeth below. Before long, they turned into a lower cavern after crossing an arched bridge over the Deeping Stream. Nag Kath asked his guide, “Tell me, Master Dwarf, does this stream run far into the mountain?”

“Aye.”

So much for conversation. He followed silently for another ten minutes and was led to a series of chambers formed naturally in the porous rock. Nag Kath put his gaol cell out of mind with an effort. The guide poked his head into one of them and then waved the Elf inside. Seated at a large, low table was Gimli, Lord of the Glittering Caves. Nag Kath walked to twenty feet away and bowed deeply. The Dwarf put aside his sheaf of papers and looked up at his guest, finally saying, “I am told you have a letter for me.”

“I have two, Your Lordship. May I present them?” The Dwarf nodded and Nag Kath laid them on the table. Gimli read the envelopes and opened Ambassador Tulinn’s first. It was a single sheet. Gimli chuckled and set it aside. The King’s was several pages and written, he supposed, in the common-tongue. That took a few minutes for the Lord to read twice.

Looking up again Gimli growled, “How is it that no one has killed you?” 

“It must be my charming personality.”

Gimli was expecting an orc, not a wit. The Dwarf Lord slowly but surely went from scowl to smile to a hearty laugh. “Very well, we will proceed on that assumption. Have a seat.” Gandalf probably gave Nag Kath a passing grade before sailing. 

A chair tall enough for Nag Kath had already been placed at the end of the table. The Dwarf shooed two attendants away and packed leaf into a long-stemmed clay pipe much like Gandalf used. The smoke dissipated quickly. Even small rooms in a cave have a breeze. “So, you were one of the Uruks that tried to kill me.”

“I was.”

“Didn’t work out so well for your lot.”

Nag Kath gave the Lord his first taste of the grin, “Bad management.”

Gimli puffed, “Hmmmm, I suppose so.”

The Elf took the initiative, “Then I became as you see. I have healed, fought, loved, lost and served. A good life, I reckon.”

Gimli took another puff, “Aragorn says you are here to ask a favor for his realm. That matters a great deal to me, but why you?”

“It was my idea. The King and Prince bade me bring fresh water from the mountain to Osgiliath because of plagues. Some of the work begs the finest craftsmen in stone for labors we have not seen in many a day. I rode here for your counsel.”

The Dwarf Lord said gruffly, “Well, you’ve got courage.”

“In addition to my charming personality. I also have rough sketches of how I see the craft needed to divert the stream. They are based on the Moria Stair and the penstocks of Orthanc. Would you like to see them?”

“I suppose so.”

They went through the drawings in some detail. The Dwarf Lord often reviewed plans for the constant working in his new fief but had never seen this sort of accuracy and detail. They beetled through two dozen sheets for almost two bells. Nag Kath made small changes or highlighted points for the Lord’s opinion. When his pencil broke he pulled his quill-knife to sharpen it. Then he handed it to Gimli saying, “This was crafted by my friend Golord of Dale. The blade is Elvish. The case is mithril/steel from Khâzad-dûm.”

Gimli held it and marveled at the balance of the tiny knife. He decided then and there that Nag Kath, whatever he had been, was a worthy man today. No one would have insisted on such care without passion. Free peoples need passion. He handed the knife back asking, “What can I do to help my friend Aragorn?”

Nag Kath had prepared his response, “We need an engineer, or team of engineers to come assess the work needed to carve away a pool edge and stair-step a quantity of water to this basin here. From there I expect we will need to build a stone pool with a gate to an aqueduct that will run about ten leagues. Any help on bridges would also be appreciated because we have to span several ravines of middling consequence.” Pointing to a different drawing, “I want to know the best way to get the water from here to here, including; men, time and skill. In short, Lord Gimli, I would like your best man to come behold this work and lend sage counsel.”

Nag Kath looked at his host rather sheepishly and added, “And I would enjoy seeing your home while I am here. Your realm is extraordinary.”

Gimli laughed, “Ha! I knew it! You are no Elf at all! Yes, you will be my guest for a time. And I will grant your request, though I need to see who is best for your needs.”

For two days Nag Kath followed a terse, grumpy Dwarf through the nooks and crannies of the Glittering Caves. To the horror of all, the Elf swam in the clear, freezing water to explore how they reflected light back to the surface. For the next two days his guide was Thurgin who had done some of the building of bridges and walkways around these jagged rocks. Nag Kath sketched quite a bit and his new guide was fascinated at how he captured just the area he wanted in perspective. Dwarvish design and art is generally presented at right angles. Radagast’s house would have driven them to distraction. 

On the fifth day Nag Kath attended Lord Gimli. This time the Dwarf rose to shake his hand. “Thurgin says you have been more help to him than the other way around.”

The grin, “We have enjoyed each other’s company. I have always gotten along well with Durin’s Folk. Elves consider me undignified and Rohan red is my personal favorite.”

“MUHAAW! Come, sit down. I will tell you my decision.” Once seated, the Lord explained, “Thurgin has agreed to come to Minas Tirith this autumn when the walkway on our Fundir chamber is complete.”

The Dwarf Lord reloaded his pipe. Like with Gandalf, all talking ceased until it was correct. With the first acceptable puff he continued, “And I will come with him. If this is to be a joint effort for the Fourth Age, I would see my old friends to the south.” 

Sliding two letters to Nag Kath he continued, “Take those home and we will meet again soon. Is there anything else?”

“No, Lord Gimli, other than to thank you for seeing me. One of my personal goals is to meet the surviving members of the Fellowship. Gandalf was my mentor and said that would be good for me. I have met Legolas’s father thrice, but the son was never in the Woodland realm at the same time. And I understand tall people are forbidden the Shire.”

“Hughmmf! You may not be bound by that. Men are not allowed. You are not a man. It is a picky detail but you have sound references. Let us build your waterway first.”

There was one last piece of excitement. Returning to the Helm’s Deep stables he found Regalid anxious. That was not like him. He inquired of the stableman who ruefully admitted the admirable horse had been used at stud with a female some of the officers thought a suitable match. Tonight was to be their second mating.

One does not use someone else’s horse for such tasks on the sly. The purity and control of bloodlines, reputation of breeders and the value of the progeny can matter a great deal. Stableman Theonandar was following instructions from above, but that might not avoid a punch in the mouth. Nag Kath laughed heartily and said, “Then someone owes me a room and a meal tonight. Now, let us have a look at the lucky girl.”

Regalid was still jumpy the next morning but they rode out the gate after Nag Kath enjoyed a roaring good time with the Provost Marshal. He was not aware of the horse romance but glad to make amends for a few senior men. As usual, the stew was untouchable but the bread was excellent.

Nag Kath presented himself at Minas Tirith as soon as he arrived now knowing the right word in the right ear at the palace gate to avoid huddling with the supplicants. He had to wait an hour but the King walked into the main waiting room himself to take him back to his office. Aragorn scanned Gimli’s letter and muttered, “Nag Kath, whatever else you are, you are a fine salesman. I suppose this means the cat is out of the bag.”

“I hope not too soon, Sire. The long, tedious part will be laying the chute. Mountain work could be done anytime. Architect Finenbrad was going to tell you that in his retirement he has contracted to find and train four men who can do the long sight-work to bring that ditch into the town at slightly more than level.

“Forgive me if this is also premature but do you know the big rock just east of the city?”

“Indeed.”

“We need it. Running the water to the top will give enough pressure for both sides of the river. I have inquired discreetly to keep the speculators from buying it or nearby land and driving up the price, but it is important. I also have an ally in the water manager on the east bank. Pieces are falling into place.”

Just as he had marveled at creating a genuine artist from the orc changeling so long ago, the King considered what he had become. “Good work, Nag Kath. What comes next?”

“Men.”


	6. Army of the Water

**_Chapter 6_ **

**_Army of the Water_ **

Nag Kath wondered about the home in Minas Tirith as he rode to Osgiliath. It was probably unnecessary since he would be mostly on the east side of the river. On the other hand; what else was he going to do with his money?

There was news in Osgiliath. Mr. Pourtous was as good as his recommendation and found the perfect place, a warehouse on the north end of the city near the road to the Morgul Vale with a small barn and stable and a large house on the other side – fully three acres with a few fruit trees. It was unoccupied and filthy but Nag Kath only saw potential. Almost six Florin changed hands and the estate agent recommended a man to make the property what the water-men wanted. 

He liked Osgiliath. Minas Tirith was beautiful, filled with living lore. This place was a beehive. Like Dale, a few older families re-claimed their heritage but everyone else was newly arrived. You were what you became. It had its pretensions. One restaurant offered “Elvish” food. Nag Kath didn’t think it all that Elvish but it was very tasty and might take a few stone off the round lords of commerce. 

Now for one of his most important personnel choices; another Brenen. The new place would not be ready for weeks so he took a month’s lodging at one of the nicest inns on the northeast side. The Great River Inn catered to well-heeled and, according to Manager Sepulvath, sometimes fussy, visitors. They were often from the south of town which, in the sprawling city, was further than many folk wanted to negotiate after a few ales. Women seemed younger than their men. Acting the lord of leisure, Nag Kath kept his eye on lads trying to pocket a few coppers by running errands. 

Several seemed promising. One was a small, dark-haired boy with bright blue eyes who was popular with local business men sending messages. Nag Kath called him over to his porch table while the lad was between assignments. “What’s your name, son?”

“Tumlen, sir”

“Tumlen, I need a few things. I would like you to find me a packet of Khandian tea, a dozen pencils, two common shirts, and a second-hand compass. Do you know what that is?”

“No, sir.”

“It looks like a pair of scissors but it holds in position to measure distances on a map.” He pantomimed the motion with two fingers.

“Like a circle cutter, sir?”

“Just so. Maybe this long.” Nag Kath handed him a silver tenth, far more than the items would cost and a tip for the errand. He specified second-hand to see if the boy knew where to find out-of-the-way things. If he saw the kid again, with change, Tumlen would pass the first test. “Off you go, then.”

By lunch Tumlen was back with all of the items and added something to his résumé by saying, “The circler was at a shop I knew that sells items for families of passed relatives. I hope it is what you want.” It was, but that didn’t matter as much as that the lad found it. “Here is your change, sir.” With that he offered three fivers.

Nag Kath told him, “Keep them. I might need a few more things later. Will you be here late this afternoon?”

With a beaming, freckled smile he said, “I will make a point of it, sir.”

After an inconspicuous test that the boy could read and count, the southern division of Kathen Properties added its first employee. Tumlen was to help the builders at the home on the corner of Vu Rethal and Emerald Lane until further notice. He was to also learn the names and reputations of masons, trenchers, clay pipe makers and a few others. The boy would not attract attention.

Other than delivering Gimli’s letter to Tulinn, Nag Kath hadn’t mentioned the Lord’s visit to anyone except the King. Once the builders were set about their tasks, Nag Kath rode out to Minas Ithil and met the bridge crew. They were nearly done and it was fine work. Durambyn was long back in Emyn Arnen and Heinieth was in charge. The engineer was a practical fellow. Duranbyn was a good boss but had a city to build for his Prince and unlikely to retire anytime soon. Nag Kath explained most of what had transpired and asked if the man had ever considered other opportunities, ones that might last up to a decade of independent contracts.

Heinieth took a long pull of his ale and smiled. The bridge would be done in three weeks, weather permitting. That would now include three weeks of keeping his mouth shut. Deal done, Nag Kath headed towards Emyn Arnen to brief the Prince. He gave Regalid’s lead to the groom and was announced to the chamberlain who came out a few minutes later to say Prince Faramir was engaged but he would try to squeeze something in by tea. That was, of course, acceptable and Nag Kath would return after eating at the chamberlain’s recommended inn. There was only one in this beautiful but out-of-the-way place. 

“Hello, Nag Kath.”

With a bow, “Your Lordship.”

“You have been busy.”

“Yes, sir. I thought it was time to keep you abreast. This shouldn’t take long.”

“I have time. Can I interest you in a cup of wine?”

“Thank you, sir.” They sat in chairs around a low table in the Prince’s study and waited until the attendant brought a pitcher with fine silver goblets. Nag Kath raised his toasting, “To the King. Have you spoken with him about my efforts?”

“Not in person. We have both been much occupied.”

Nag Kath told the Prince the major points of his preparations, including stealing Durambyn’s assistant. “The most important thing on this side of the river will be securing the rights for a path to Osgiliath. I do not know if you can command it, or buy it or it is already yours. Men will need to start surveying fairly soon on official business.”

Faramir thought for a moment and said, “Most of it belongs to the fief. It is only where you start seeing farms that the land is free-held.”

“Your Highness can expect guests shortly. Lord Gimli is coming himself with Dwarvish craftsmen to consider getting water from the south side of the massif to the west. May I suggest Heinieth’s first job after the bridge be constructing a compound for Gimli’s noble visit and as headquarters when folk start chipping rocks?”

Faramir agreed, “Good idea, and I’ll tell Durambyn about needing a new assistant. I should go out there myself. Let us do that tomorrow. Now, what do I need to do about your expenses?”

“My understanding with Lord Aragorn was that I would personally pay the first hundred Florin in seed money and your Lordships would manage the rest if this is practical. That keeps me from waiting in Purse offices with receipts.”

As with the King, Prince Faramir was speechless for a moment. The Prince was well-off but that was a lot of money. He ventured, “Are you sure?”

“I count myself fortunate, My Lord.”

The next morning, the Prince, Nag Kath and six outriders made a comfortable pace to the base of the Düathin massif after collecting Heinieth. Two troopers watched the horses while the other seven men hiked to the pool. Even late in the season the flows were strong. Hopefully it moved fast enough to not freeze in a bad winter. That would be a time of year when the Anduin was drinkable.

Back at the base, Nag Kath showed the Prince and engineer where he thought the dam would go but he would defer to the Dwarves. They knew water and rock better than anyone in Middle-Earth. In rough terms, a goodish bump of rock had to be removed to divert the flow from veering into the Neussan chasm. Walking back down the slope, the Elf aimed his longest bubble level at Osgiliath to give Faramir a feel for the slope-to-run. No different than the meanest farm ditch, the hard part would be keeping a gradual flow across uneven ground. 

After the Prince rode home, Nag Kath and Heineith talked about where to put the settlement. Nag Kath also gave him three Florin; one for him and two for the job. The engineer grinned and was sure the bridge workers would stay on.

Minas Tirith beckoned. Nag Kath always knew he needed expert help, he just didn’t know what kind. That was becoming clearer now. In the city he visited the best businessman he knew.

Mr. Tallazh clapped his hands together and the Elf was shown to the same chair. Nag Kath handed him the box of lucky tea. Once settled, Nag Kath said, “It is poor payment for the favor I must ask, Amiedes. I need a manager, someone who knows business, payments, the cost of goods and shipping. I was hoping you might know of someone with references.”

His wise friend said, “As it happens, I do. My grandson cannot rise far in my old family business now that I am retired. I think he would be open to new employment. This project will take many years, will it not?”

“It will if it is approved. In about a year, the Lords of Gondor have to decide if they are willing to pay the bill. I have a scholar looking into practical aspects of great works of antiquity. My best guess is that we will need a huge moving town for workers and families. They may come from here. They may come from Harad with their Mûmikils. Dwarf masters will plan the water stair.

“I need someone who can keep track of it all, work with the Purse and issue orders that will be obeyed. Does your grandson have gravitas?”

“Oh yes. But you should decide for yourself. Come to dinner in two night’s time.”

Except for the eyes, Granthor Teldamir looked nothing like his grand-da. Tall and Gondoran, he shook hands as the family was seated. His mother was the woman Nag Kath met on his first visit. No water ditches were discussed but Nag Kath asked a few conversational business questions, mostly about getting people to do what you want. He got the right answers. 

Granthor Teldamir would be just fine. With Nag Kath’s permission, Tallazh had already briefed him on the project. The man had an enormous amount of work to do. He would oversee everyone Nag Kath wanted to put on the payroll, renew acquaintances with folk in the Purse, travel quite a bit and see to the money. That described what he did now and his family was used to it. Untangling himself from the mercantile business would take two weeks.

Work on the White City home was complete and they did a good job. Wandering through the bottom room Nag Kath realized he was lonely. Furious work and planning had taken his mind off Eniece. She was now gone a year. Some of the sting was helped by a return letter from Ardatha through the Colonel. Thain Conath was showing the years. Torrold would take his place but he never married so her children were the line of succession both in Buhr Austar and Dale itself. Her son was now of an age that she and Reyald would discuss visiting. His bank transfer was in the same packet.

_____________--------______________

Something else that would take two weeks was the arrival of Gimli, Lord of the Glittering Caves. This was a state event even though the Caves were under the Overlordship of Thorin Stonehelm with only 300 Dwarves in residence. Gimli was a hero of Minas Tirith for his bravery against orcs, Haradrim and, especially, Umbar corsairs. 

Nag Kath was in the east much of that time but he made certain he was there when sixteen Dwarves arrived on ponies with half that many pack animals. The Mithril intarsia gates swung open as horns announced their arrival. Aragorn, a name only used by friends like Gimli, and his knights joined the lordly procession just inside and proclaimed them true friends of Gondor. Since the flower season was past, folk threw little bits of colored paper as the stout folk made their way to accolades. A few mugs of ale made their way to thirsty riders as well.

The Dwarves would be here three days to rest and feast before making for Osgiliath. Gimli had not seen the bridge, now just fourteen years complete. His memories of the city were utter ruin. Nag Kath thought it better not to attend a party commemorating the destruction of his original folk. There would be plenty of time for conversation when they got to the rocks.

The King decided to come. He hadn’t seen the massif except from the plain and wanted a better look. That would overwhelm Heinieth’s little encampment. Prince Faramir joined them in Osgiliath to more colored paper and fanfare.

Now it was time for business. Nag Kath introduced Heinieth to the Dwarves and the two of them briefly went over the sketches. Then the party rode and climbed to the pool so they could see what the Elf was thinking. Thurgin watched carefully but kept his opinions to himself until he saw the idea to empty the pool from the western side to keep it from becoming part of the raging Neussan. This was the best stream on the dividing ridge. With confidence he shouted over the din of the waterfall, “My Lord Gimli, what Nag Kath proposes is much like the quench supply at the Nâin forge, only larger. 

Glorand the second engineer agreed, “Aye. It is further down but there is more water to work with. Nag Kath, how much of this flow do you need?”

The Elf yelled back, “No more than half, but I would like more down the face and make those decisions in the collection pool.”

Gimli, like most Dwarves, was comfortable standing on sheer cliffs. He peered over the edge and they returned to the horses. When they could hear at speaking volumes, the Dwarf Lord asked his two builders, “Well, what say you?”

Thurgin said, “If it were me, I would just let it all slide down the face with a larger pool at the bottom. They need to route the flow across the face, but they have to do that in either case. All that has to be done is knock that nose off the ridge then dam the side of the pool leading back to the river and hammer a gate over there, much easier to make a bigger pool below on flat ground.”

Glorand agreed, “I think so too. No reason to get too precise on the side of a cliff. Men of Gondor will have to do this work and they are not used to such heights.”

Conditions met, Gimli said, “Lord Aragorn and Lord Faramir; staunch friends both, your plan has favor. Engineer Thurgin will stay here over the winter and help with this and as much as he can with the chute going west. Let your fine city be free of poxes!”

Aragorn cried, “Thank you kind sir. We shall name this wonder the Gimli Cascade!”

The Lord of the Glittering Caves chuckled, “First let us see if it works! Muha!”

Then they all went back to Osgiliath. No one even looked in the little hospitality compound. Thurgin and an assistant hidden in the Dwarf company would be there quite a bit along with workers and surveyors fairly soon so it wasn’t a complete waste. On the way back Nag Kath had Tumlen rent a nice home for the Dwarvish Engineers and find a servant to cook and clean when they needed to get away from the mountain.

Back in Minas Tirith was more feasting and feting before the now fourteen Dwarves made their way home. Gimli had other business here but this was a good excuse to see his dear friends and help the King and Prince announce this lifesaving project. And as Lord Gimli said; now it had better work.

Within the week, Nag Kath had his first meeting of the ‘worker bees’. Officially the Aqueduct Council, they met in the Elf’s Osgiliath barn. When fourteen were assembled he started slowly, “Gentlemen, we are embarked on a great work, something not seen in nearly a thousand years. I believe in finding the right people and letting them do what they do best. Granthor Teldamir will be the master of resources. His job will be to get men and materials where we need them. For the time being, I am funding everything but we will exhaust that soon enough and then he will manage our Lord’s contributions.

“Turbun Heinieth is chief engineer. He and his assistants will supervise building all of this. I expect their number to grow and for men to distinguish themselves along the way. Master Thurgin and his capable assistant …” this with a nod to the younger Dwarf “… Fordosh will design the flow in the rocks from the waterfall. 

“Tumlen Gespath will be here and his job is to find what you need and run messages in Osgiliath. This will be our headquarters.” Neither Tum nor Fordosh expected to be more than flies on the wall and were honored to be mentioned. Nag Kath continued, “If you haven’t met, this is Manager Sepulvath. He is in charge of the water once it gets here. He will have to reinforce ancient piping in Osgiliath and will work with some of you from that big rock in.

Architect Finenbrad, to my left, is currently training the long-range surveyors and he will have a hand in their assignments. Four men are presently about two …?”

Finenbrad cleared his throat, “Maybe three.”

“Three weeks from joining the project. They will eventually report to Mr. Heinieth or me. Expect more folk shortly. We will need managers and cooks and people to make camps. As we speak, King Elessar is exploring getting Mûmikils and their handlers up here for the heavy work.” 

Teldamir spoke, “I told the Lords we will need at least two hundred men in the field in spring. Next year will be chiefly learning where to put the chute and counting the materials. We will also be building roads, shelters, barges and stockpiling many things for use the following spring. Think of those men as soldiers needing boots and shelter and rations to keep them fit.”

Nag Kath grinned, “And now, about me. Contrary to common belief, I am not a dark lord in disguise.” Some of the men in the room chuckled. Others were not relieved at all. Several here today saw the Elf turn silver in the cursed river. 

“I will be chief architect and share the vision. I am not perfect either. No one here has done this before. We will make mistakes. When you need help, ask. When you are wrong, admit it. Any of you can approach me at any time. Have passion and courage and we will do a great thing our children’s children will proud to see.”

There was one task that seemed nothing at the time. Finenbrad had an abscess on his calf that scraped raw after riding for the first time in months. Nag Kath saw him limping when the other men left and had him pull his boot while Tumlen brought a clean cloth and water. 

To the architect’s embarrassment, the Elf clicked his little knife and sliced into the sore to drain the wound. Then he grasped Finenbrad’s ankle and they watched his hand glow silver before returning to its usual color. That was a good start but the wound needed dressing. “Tumlen, where are the healing shops in town?”

Tumlen blanched. May Eru save and bless us! He mumbled, “The closest is four blocks east of the inn. Shall I go fetch something?” Anything was a good enough reason to get out of there.

“Nay, it is better if I look myself. See if you can find Mr. Finenbrad something to eat.”

Osgiliath was so large that there was no one central district for anything. Nag Kath would learn there were three areas where healers of varying abilities clustered. He needed a simple poultice of athelas and huren root which should be available anywhere but had to be fresh. The third shop he saw had supplies. On his way back he noticed another healer’s shop with similar herbs that also offered inductive healing. That was not common. The 'closed' sign in a small window was written in a Dalish hand. It was probably nothing so he took the weeds back to the ailing architect.

Before the snows fell, the surveyors had already done good work. Certand Lemdarin was the former surveyor’s assistant and took charge in the field since Finenbrad’s role was advisory. Materials were stockpiled to reinforce the road and camp sites were laid-out near spur roads or likely docking places for barges.

Nag Kath stayed with the Dwarves near the waterfall for much of the time since they would do the design but leave while work was in process. Fordosh had a fair hand. Nag Kath freely shared his drawing techniques, something that others might have jealously guarded. Building the pool below would come before tons of water was dumped on the workmen. 

_____________--------______________

Snows came early and heavy this year. Unlike Dale, which always had miserable winters, Gondor often saw little snow and manageable temperatures. Not this year, so Nag Kath went back to Minas Tirith. When he arrived he found a pile of letters under the door slot. Two were from Brenen and Ardatha courtesy of Colonel Rosscranith’s shuttle. He read them many times. One, in a perfumed envelope, was a note from Tal that he should join her and her husband and a few friends for dinner in only four day’s time. The letter had been there a week. Nag Kath dashed off a reply that he would be delighted and had a local lad run it across the prow for a groat.

In the meantime, he visited Sylveth Multö, nee Quastille. Now sixty, she did not look that much older. And as Tim said, her husband looked just like her. Both were happy. She deserved that, even if it took too long. 

He was warmly invited in for tea. At his first sip, both Nag Kath and Sylveth remembered his first taste of the drink and his dropping the cup with an orc curse-word at burning his lips. He had come unannounced at ten thirty and by noon they had lunch together. It was good to see her again. Master Quastille had a stroke in his sleep. Nag Kath told them about his art and how that became a waterpath. It seems Broughtur Multö bought and rented property so they talked about that a while. 

Nag Kath also dropped in on Tim and Marie. This time he went downstairs and met the students. One was good, one fair and one rich. At lunch, Tim chided him for not preparing his Syndolan Eve party! Nag Kath had not even thought of that. Tim was correct, of course. His big house on the fourth was made for festivities. The artists walked up to survey the possibilities. Yes, the tradition would continue!

Tal’s invitation said six but at the bell he was the last to arrive. Mrs. Tippi opened the door and let him in without a word. Not three steps inside his hand was firmly shaken by Ectellion Toroldinar. There was no wondering where his son got the curly black hair. The man reminded Nag Kath of Rogad, the guardi chief in Trum Dreng. He was shorter than his wife, stocky and fit with a soldier’s face. His warmth was genuine. Since Tal would certainly have told him of their experience, that was water over the dam.

His first introduction was to Ectilla, the older daughter. She was a pleasing blend of her parents’ different looks with better manners than her brother who was skulking by the finger-foods. “Mr. Kath, please let me tell you how much I admire your work.”

“Thank you. I did not know any of it survived.”

“I have only seen a few things.”

“Let us hope they do not lose value now that I am back. I should introduce you to my friend Timalen Brushta.”

“Oh, he is your friend? We met at one of his showings two years back. Very imaginative!”

That could mean anything when describing art. Tal joined them with Nag Kath kissing her hands. Mother and daughter introduced him to seven other guests. Included were Ferd and Bridgeth Comsairs of the merchants league and Hermad and Florice Murgrander, he being chief agent of the Furrier’s Cooperative. Mrs. Murgrander was beautiful. They both looked at him quite a bit.

Dinner was edible. Tal, as threatened, retold the last charge of the Revanthars now that she had corroboration. He explained how he stuffed Gandalf’s match powder into a barley bottle and lit it with a fuse made of drawing paper. Tal also insisted he tell the tale of the Wild Huntsman. Nag Kath was not sure he wanted to divulge that much magic so he offered an edited version concentrating on the Bilbo-like escape. Most of his conversation was about the water-path. He did not say he was in charge but there was plenty else to explain. Folk around the table agreed that if the water was safe, it was high time to stop those poxes in the basin!

As he was leaving, Tal took him aside and asked if now that his mourning period was over, would he like romantic introductions? She knew some respectable ladies. He had not really thought of that. And there was the notion of a mourning period. As strangely as he measured time, he had not considered short-lived men had to limit their grief or lose too much life in the waiting. His year was over, just as hers had been when they met.

He said he would let her know when his time was more his own. On the walk home he also thought that might be Tal’s way of saying she was happy with her choice and he should not keep a candle burning. It was what he wanted for her.

Nag Kath did not have to do much to organize his Syndolan Party. Sylveth knew a man who did that professionally. Mr. Fobe came to his home and agreed this was perfect for a fine event. Tables, chairs, crockery and festive ornaments were ordered. Syndolan pipers were hired, though the man explained the best of them had been booked years in advance. This trio had not been together long but were good and available. Food was arranged. 

Nag Kath sat with pencil and paper to see who he knew. The King and Queen were invited first, though they would certainly not come. The same went for the Prince and Lady Éowyn. Among the commoners were Hobbits (always a must for the discerning host), his Dwarf friends and engineers, many of the water crew and their families. Tal and Tim and the Multö's must come. He had met a few neighbors so they went on the list. Rosscranith might come along with members of Mr. Tallazh’s family. He stopped at forty three names and wrote the invitations himself.

Winter offered a brief respite so he shuttled between here and Osgiliath twice. They had to rent a wharfside go-down near his compound to store the bits and pieces Teldamir was ordering. Tumlen stayed busy with that and also managed to find a husband and wife Dwarf team of cook and tusdar (houseman in the common tongue) for the Engineers. They traveled with them between here and at the waterfall to make their lives easier. There were still quite a few Longbeards who lived abroad with men. Not all of Durin’s Folk loved caves.

Party day arrived. It was accounted a great success. A scholar of parties would explain that Nag Kath’s events went well because everyone was a friend. Fifth-level galas never had Dwarves singing Syndolan songs or Hobbits dancing with tall folk. Tal and Ecc came and danced themselves. She tall and elegant, he short and muscular. They cut a fine figure together. Ectilla came with them and talked with Tim and Marie most of the night.

Rosscranith and his bride came. He knew these events from Dale and would not have missed it. His mission here would end next summer but he expected to have his term renewed. Could he take any messages back home with him? 

The King set off fireworks at nine so everyone walked outside to watch. All agreed they were a sight to see. Nag Kath wished he had learned more about Gandalf’s craft in Orthanc. He had seen the best and last of the green and silver rockets in Middle-earth. Part of Mr. Fobe’s service was a crew of cleaners the next morning. The damage was not so bad. White City revelers were easier on crockery than Dalelanders. Nag Kath drank his tea and flexed his toes in the rug. Another year had started.

Nag Kath wondered what he had gotten himself into. Cooperation seemed an excellent idea when the King and Prince surprised him with armed troops. It still seemed so. This was a noble project. It was too late to bow-out now. He began to understand the value of his gifts. They were still weak and ill-defined but save Radagast, he might be the last creature in Middle-Earth who could tell the water was no longer tainted by Mordor. How many years of poxes and plagues would have passed for someone to take that risk?

_____________--------______________

Spring of year two, year 22 of the Fourth Age, saw the aqueduct start in earnest. Dwarf Master Thurgin and his assistant Fordosh spent most of their time at the comfortable outpost below the waterfall and seemed to like it. Oddly, they did not drink much beer there, though what they did in Osgiliath was their business. 

Granthor Teldamir shuttled between Osgiliath and Minas Tirith. His job was to see how much this would cost in time and money. If it was approved, he would have primary financial stewardship. That looked increasingly likely. King Elessar ordered Minas Morgul torn to rubble. He could find the men to bring clean water. Finenbrad’s surveyors worked through the winter when possible. Certand added three former soldiers for the surveyors to make camp, cook and leave them free to spot elevations. In the summer they split into two crews. 

Everyone thought of the project in three parts. The long span in the middle was easiest since the aqueduct could follow the road beside the Neussan until the river veered south of the city. There were hills but no mountains or canyons. The surveyors set their heights from the rock and worked back towards the waterfall. 

The hard parts would be either end. From the top of Ferantie’s rock to the Anduin was about three miles. That span would have to be raised above the flood plain at the river-bend. Fortunately, materials could be barged along the Neussan from wherever they were found. The prevailing design was to run the chute supported by arches like a bridge. To the east, rock had to be moved to get the waterfall pool to dump on the west face. From there it would have to be routed down another three hundred feet fairly quickly to reach the level of the road. Getting water to go down is easy. Getting it to go sideways is not. The Dwarves were working on that. Nag Kath spent most of his time with them since they would leave before the work at the waterfall started.

Most of year two was spent making it easy for year three. The main road was reinforced with a frontage along the river so teams of horses could pull barges upstream. Spur roads were built from docks sunk into the Nuessan. Logs were cut in Cair Andros and floated down for camps, storehouses, barges and supports. Livestock was raised and penned along the route. Grain was moved to storehouses. Vegetables were prized so many folk in Osgiliath and Ithilien raised them as a cash crop. Farmers clamored for property along the formerly cursed river which came with a provision that some of the food was for the water-men. One of those headwater streams was still tainted, but getting less so.

Nag Kath’s idea of a private residence in Osgiliath was doomed from the start. It was just more space for everyone coming and going. He took his waking rest in a chair. There were never less than five horses in the stable. Once a month he was in Minas Tirith to consult with Teldamir or, occasionally, the King, including in August when the Dwarf Engineers went home. Aragorn held a banquet in their honor and proclaimed them heroes of his realm. Nag Kath was proud to call them friends.

In mid-October, posts had been driven every quarter mile for the entire length and marked for height. They knew where the aqueduct was going to go. With the first snow, Nag Kath was ready for a break. For all his supposed influence from air-wizard Saruman, he was a poor reader of weather. Men with sore knees were more reliable. Old knees were predicting a storm so he went to Minas Tirith to relax. And yes, Mr. Fobe would be glad to organize this year’s Syndolan Eve party. 

In preparing, Nag Kath hired Deltra who worked every day before the gala cleaning and cooking. After that, she came twice a week or when he was in town. Nag Kath also saw friends. All of them played matchmaker. He did not have the time or attention for that, though he did appreciate their thinking of him. One of his special treasures was letters from Brenen and Ardatha. The news did not change much but he read them many times and usually replied the same day.

In March of year three, Nag Kath met Teldamir for lunch with Mr. Tallazh. Somehow the Elf thought that Lords Aragorn and Faramir would consider the feasibility of the project and then decide whether to proceed. Everyone but Nag Kath knew the King would see it through as soon as he saw the Elf glowing silver in the suspect river. At Nag Kath’s count, he had spent ninety three Florin, not including the houses and other personal things after being reimbursed by the crown for the Farantie rock easement. 

Spring was mild this year. The trouble with mild springs is those are the years that tend to flood with snow melt. A fever broke out in April that killed three hundred in Osgiliath and sickened thousands more. Not many water men were working close to the city and they got their water from the Nuessan, but most of them knew someone who was ill or worse. Nag Kath spent the first six weeks of the building season healing until he collapsed. It was a harsh reminder of how important this work was.

When the fever abated, it was time to move dirt. Two Mûmikils and their birth-handlers marched along the eastern side of the Anduin. These beasts were females, much smaller than the males seen a generation ago, and less likely to rages. Each of them had ten dedicated men to feed, house, clean and watch them at all times. Another eighty Haradrim came with them as laborers. 

Several thousand citizens of the White City lined the western bank to watch their progress. It seemed the rare beasts were from the deep south of the country while the east produced the soldiers. In the dark days, the Easterlings demanded Mûmikils as tribute. These days, southern men made their own deals. 

The huge animals’ primary job this year was loading and storing materials coming upriver in a steady stream of barges or sailing craft. A large supply of the soil that can be mixed with gravel and water for mortar was sent from the desert. That had to be kept dry. By late May, almost five hundred men were toiling between Osgiliath and the Morgul Vale. Haradrim worked separately from the men of Gondor but when they crossed paths, they got along. Very few of either folk were old enough to remember much about the war.

Heinieth now had four primary assistants who were that in name only. They had their own area to work and enough authority to only need to meet about every other week at alternating sites. Vensin Xangorand was the Engineer in charge of the main line between the city and the source. Since this was the flattest and closest to both the road and the river, he built a trial trench of three hundred feet using different design, building techniques and materials. 

There were five possibilities. Nag Kath did not know there was a bet when he was called to choose. Everyone’s favorite was a lackluster third and a dark-horse invented by one of the diggers was selected. It was said up to three Florin changed hands that day. The digger got a bonus and a promotion.

In August the Mûmikils were reassigned to start carrying logs from the river along the route. Their handlers fiercely protected them and insisted they not be overloaded. The oliphaunts effortlessly dragged several trees at a time and never seemed to mind. It took a crew of ten just to bring them fodder and other things they liked to eat. Gondorans spoiled them with carrots or other roots found in the digging.

Winter seemed to be coming early this year if old knees are reliable. The Haradrim had intended to return south and come back in spring but thought better of it when camps were built with stoves and good food. For many men of both the west and south, this was better than home. About a hundred Gondorans stayed in camp as well. Most of the rest lived in Osgiliath or Minas Tirith and would not have far to travel. 

Year four, year 24 of the Fourth Age, was dry with no serious disease and good footing. In late April, two more Mumikils were brought with their crew of ten men each. Thinking the war far enough past, King Elessar had them visit the White City. Some folk hid under their beds but children were delighted to offer them hay that the creatures accepted with their tactile noses. 

Nag Kath plied the road between the city and the waterfall and also spent time with Teldamir. Special items had to be brought or made now that they had a better idea of quantity and size. He would also spend some days just working in the sun on the most basic tasks to give him a feel for the pace. 

It was time to start working west from Farantie Rock. Engineer Forshbrand had an idea to erect stone pillars every twenty feet and build an arched wooden frame between them. Men on scaffolds then mortared rocks in place to form the permanent arch with keystones and build courses up to form the water chute. He built five of them and then moved the bracing from the first to the sixth. It was slow and dangerous at first but by the end of the season they could add a pillar every two days. 

There were problems too. A landslide killed four men and injured a dozen. Prince Faramir came to console the wounded and give cheer to all. It was the policy that disabled men would receive two year’s pay or the same money would go the family of those who died. Deaths were seldom but men lost hands and legs in such heavy work. These were not orcs or slaves who were worked until they dropped.

One of the more interesting meetings Nag Kath had that year was with Manager Sepulvath and representatives of West Osgiliath. Their difficulty was that the water would have to cross the river lower than the bridge, low enough that it would be hit by ship masts. They decided on a plan to attach an open metal chute to the bridge with a draw arm to raise it at the center arch at certain times or when a ship came along willing to pay a toll. The supply for the west would be the middle of three arms splaying from the rock. Crews were already surveying paths for both smaller arches and large stone holding tanks for pressure and to strain out sediment.

Towards the end of year four, Nag Kath had turned over most of the work to the engineers. Architecture was now more adjustments to designs in progress than new work. He still had to finish the waterfall designs. Master Thurgen had done that but the exact measurements would depend on how high the trench actually made it up the hill.

That gave Nag Kath more time in Minas Tirith …

… which changed his life considerably.


	7. Florice

**_Chapter 7_ **

**_Florice_ **

His friends were sure he needed a woman. He probably did. He just had not tried. Tal invited him to tea at a fashionable restaurant on the fifth level. They did this perhaps twice a year and he was in town at the right time.

When he arrived he saw Tal and Florice Murgrander had already been served. Mr. Murgrander was not included. He remembered Florice as attractive but with a second look she was stunning; tall, blonde, late twenties. She could have been an Elf but for a small scar on her chin that would have healed. As he joined them, Tal said, “Nag Kath, you remember Flor Murgrandar, don’t you?”

“Certainly. It is nice to see you, Mrs. Murgrander.”

“Good afternoon, Mr. Kath.”

“Please, just Nag Kath.”

“All right, if you call me Flor.”

Tal stage-managed the conversation masterfully touching on their travels, healing and bringing water to the thirsty. He said it was healing before it is needed – a stock phrase. Very few people knew he was in charge. Tal held forth on this and that. In passing, she described someone using a derogatory Dunnish epithet for men who favor men, not something a Mrs. Murgrander of the fifth-level would be expected to recognize. Nag Kath raised his eyebrow which was answered with Tal’s impish smile. 

Completing her charade as the finger cakes arrived, the matchmaker exclaimed, “Oh my, what is the time? I must be off! Mrs. Tippi will wonder what has become of me.” She kissed Flor on the cheek and was gone.

Nag Kath wondered at the lovely Mrs. Murgrander’s complicity. He gave her the benefit of the doubt, managing to ask, “Have you known Tal and Ectilliad long?” It was inoffensive and gave him time to survey the battlefield.

“She smiled demurely, “Not long before our dinner a few years ago. We met at a Syndolan party.”

“Ah, in Dale we were known for our Syndolan Eve parties. To keep the neighbors from complaining we invited them. I have them here too.”

“We?”

“I am widowed.”

She sincerely said, “I am sorry. I didn’t mean to … “

“Please, dear lady. We were speaking of gay celebrations.”

They talked for a few minutes about gatherings. Then Flor said softly, “Tal told me you met after her mourning period ended at some sort of party.” More softly, “She told me what you did for her.”

“Yes, we had to make a quick retreat but all was well in the end.”

“No, I mean what else you did for her. I …” Her nerves failed. She knew Tal’s tea was a ruse to find her a man but this was happening too fast. “Perhaps I should go.”

As she started to rise he held her hand and offered comfort; “Please stay.”

After a while they walked down the switchback to his house. Thankfully he made a fire before he left. Flor was clearly distraught. He sat her on the couch and watched her wring her hands in her lap. Tal hadn’t given any hint if she organized this tryst for the benefit of one, the other or both. Nag Kath interpreted Tal’s smile to imagine Florice took lovers or, like some ladies, had her maid help with needs. He would soon find out neither was the case. Her wedding night had not aroused her husband and she spent the last six years hoping the man would make her a woman.

Of course, his own love life was not legendary. Two women he either stayed with or tried to. Two were always temporary. Nag Kath put his arm around Flor. She cried in want and fear and shame. There was no bitterness, just loss. He let her sob. After she grew quiet, he applied a mild sleeping spell and stoked the fire before reviewing his notes at the table.

She woke at sunset saying in a small voice, “That was very kind of you. I'm told men are urgent and forceful in their passions.”

He sat next to her and held her chin in his hand. “You were not ready. I suspect you have been treated coldly. You need warmth. Tal is a woman of great warmth. She must have thought I could help.”

Flor smiled sweetly, rose elegantly and walked upstairs.

Nag Kath stared at the ceiling. Oh Talereth, are you giggling right now? Flor was very still but not sleeping. She was not crying either. The late nine-bell snapped him out of his reverie. Once again, the habit of not starting stupid conversations saved him. Concern about her reputation almost had him ask if she needed to return home. That could also look like he could not wait to get her out the door. He solved that by rolling over and warming her again.

At the ten-bell she asked in a little girl voice, “Do you think I am pretty?”

“Very pretty.”

She thought for a moment, “People have told me that and I think so too. That is why I do not understand why my husband does not find me attractive.”

Oh dear! Tal might have mentioned that not all men are interested to the perplexed Mrs. Murgrander before tea. “Flor, I should think any man would be proud to be your husband. But some men are not capable of such feelings. It is not your fault.”

Nag Kath thought she might start crying again but Flor became practical, “Father tried very hard to find me a good husband. In my family, such things were not discussed. It is a father’s right to instruct. But da was so sick and I could not ask him.” She turned to him, “Have I been foolish, Nag Kath?”

“No. But I think you should talk to Tal again. She is very sensitive about such things. And you must protect yourself. There are those who would not approve. I will not mention this.” He paused a moment, “Must you go home?”

She bit her lip slightly before replying, “No, Hermad is in Osgiliath for a few days. He has friends there.”

Nag Kath had no doubt of that. “Then you will stay here tonight. Tomorrow morning we will go see Tal.”

After one of his camp-style egg-fries, Nag Kath walked Flor to Tal’s house. Mrs. Tippi opened the door and the changeling announced, “I think we’re expected.”

They were shown into the main room as the maid collected her mistress.

Tal wandered in with a yawn and smiled. Nag Kath gave Flor a kiss on the cheek and said cheerfully, “Tal is going to tell you all about me and men’s tastes.” Tal’s eyes widened realizing turnabout is fair play. The amorous changeling added, “I’ll be back in an hour.”

It took about that long to go to the stationer on the third level and order more of the big size of paper. When he got back, either he would collect the confused blonde and life would be different or no one would answer the door and it would have been a lovely night. For some reason he whistled the toneless trail song from Orthanc.

____________-------___________

Flor’s expression changed a dozen times in the twenty minute walk back to his house but she didn’t utter a word. Tal gave him a knowing smile when they left so he imagined the women’s conversation was thorough. Nag Kath hung her coat on the peg and went to warm the kettle. After adding more wood to the fire he joined Florice on the couch. She was sitting with her knees together and hands folded looking down. Slightly piqued she declared, “I cannot think why a man would have such thoughts.”

It was better than; ‘Tal told me you are a murderous orc.’ Nag Kath suspected Flor was smarter than she was trained to appear. Sheltered girls in Dale often seemed dim until they blossomed with the right husband. If she had been handed from a man who would not say to another who could not do, there was no guarantee anyone else filled the gaps.

Now, what would he do with her? She was gloriously beautiful, she seemed to enjoy intimacy, however delayed, and she was sitting on his couch. He had nothing to fear from any man, let alone Hermad. Did either man want her? His life was more complicated too. No, a better word was dedicated. But his own desires (and Tal’s mischievous good intentions) had placed Flor in this situation so he would stand by her until things became clearer. There was no time like the present, “Flor, has anyone has ever asked you what you want?”

Keeping her fingers locked in her lap she explained, “No. I was trained to be a good wife, keep a household and raise children. Now that does not seem possible. I will go home. Hermad is a kind man and has never beaten me. I suspect he will not mind if I leave. But I have no money of my own so I will return for now. My lady’s maid must be sore worried at the hour.”

As she rose to get her coat she said, “You have been very kind … and warm. And you are involved in this intrigue …” the thought brought an attractive smile “… not entirely of your making. I will be the better for this. Thank you for a lovely time. Goodbye, Nag Kath.”

If there was ever a time to be noble, this was it. “You can stay here, Flor. I make no demands on you. You can ask yourself what you want and have time to answer.” There, that wasn’t so hard. He added, “If you like, fetch your woman and bring her here. I have plenty of space.” He could see her weighing if that was going from the frying pan into the fire. Her face flushed a little thinking of last night. Nag Kath was not so vain as to think that would tip the scale, but there wasn’t much competition. 

She smiled, “I will get my things and bring her with me. It is probably better if you do not help. Some mystery as to my whereabouts might be wise. When Hermad returns I will tell him my decision. That is only right and I am not afraid.” He helped her into her coat.

Flor expected her maid to be beside herself but the woman had wondered for years what took the girl so long. Cook Flula and houseman Yves would stay. Yves was seventy four and had been a Murgrander family retainer since he was sixteen. He kissed her like a daughter, certain they would see each other once this upset was behind them. She took nothing of Hermad’s or of theirs. It was a clean break. Not a strong writer, Flor tried several notes before asking Yves to explain. 

It would still take two man-carts two trips to haul her clothes and personal items. On the first round, the carters stopped at the first floor. It was unlocked so they walked into the large, empty room. Miss Penula Börndal turned all the way around and said, “We have work to do, my dear.” Pen was forty one and looked fifty. Retained just after the Murgrander wedding, she was devoted to her sweet girl. Nag Kath heard the noise below and walked downstairs saying, “Not much to do down here.” Then he walked outside to tell the bearers to use the next door up.

Flor introduced Penula who gave Nag Kath a suspicious but optimistic glower before following the master of the house upstairs. This floor was almost as empty but for unused furniture and sketches stuck in the wall plaster with little nails. He told the cautious lady’s maid, “We can use a woman’s touch here too.”

Ever the host, Nag Kath said, “Miss Börndal, you have a choice of rooms. There is this one here …” he walked to quarters next to the kitchen. To Penula it seemed a luxury suite. Nag Kath had the builder repeat the quarters in Dale with the kitchen stove in a common wall for warmth. It sported a comfortable mattress with a real bed under it, basin, dresser and wardrobe. To keep her from claiming it too quickly he said, “Or come upstairs.”

This room was slightly larger without a stove but got eastern light overlooking the street. The women took a quick look before he walked them one room over. “Flor, I hope this will do.” It was the guest room and as large as her sleeping quarters at home but roughly appointed. There was a door between the two rooms if used either for a maid or a child. Neither woman expected a room for Flor. Penula was under the impression her mistress was running to a handsome lover after admitting that Hermad was, well, never mind. She hoped this pretty boy wasn’t one of the same. For her part, Flor remembered being told of men’s lustful ways and she was still sore from last night. How was it possible that he would not force himself upon her? 

The man-cart pullers were anxiously waiting below until Pen told them to take her mistress’ mountains of clothes to the upstairs room and fetch the rest. Mrs. Murgrander had a few kitchen items and remembrances of home or gifts Hermad gave her over the years. Nag Kath watched Flor from the balcony. She floated a little like Eniece. Was he drawn to women with Elvish qualities? They seemed to find him. He was only attracted to women who were attracted to him. That was Elvish. At times she reminded him of the statues in Rivendell. Elves always chiseled the same face on their Quenda. Humans have more expressions.

Miss Börndal immediately became the organizer of all things. The second man-cart loads were placed with military precision. When later that night it was apparent Flor would only need her quarters to store dresses. Penula took the room downstairs with the stove in the wall. 

Nag Kath hadn’t thought this out with his usual deliberation. He suddenly remembered the joys of companionship. He was drawn to her physically. That seemed to be mutual. Somehow he knew he was forgetting something. 

Penula was a fifth-level lady’s maid. Those skills did not include hauling firewood in from the street vendors or edible meals. Flor could cook a little if you didn’t mind eating meat every night. Cook Deltra returned two days later after caring for her valetudinarian sister. A married woman with two grown children, she did not want to live-in full-time but would stay on until they could make other arrangements. Nag Kath slipped her a couple silvers to ease her retirement.

It was time to work. He sat with Flor at the dining table while Miss Börndal was shopping with Deltra. This had to be prefaced correctly. She was not a woman for hire. “Flor, I am glad you and Penula are here. It is painfully obvious we need help.” He poured a handful of silvers and nippers on the table and said, “I would like you to keep the household. Decorate the place as you like. Don’t bother with the first floor. What you don’t spend is yours, without reservation. I said I place no demands on you and I meant it. If you find this is not what you want, you are free to go with my love. And there should be enough there to speak with a notary about ending your marriage contract with Mr. Murgrandar. I suspect he will want to keep the reasons quiet.”

Flor had never seen so much money! Her father had none. Hermad managed the finances. This must be three Florin! How was this possible? Who was this creature? Men did not do such things! None of the wives in her society were trusted with more than purse money. She tried to say ‘thank you’ but no sound came.

_____________------_____________

It was quite a week! He now had a woman he hardly knew living in his home, with her maid. Nag Kath needed to talk with Tal to see if she arranged this for diversion or permanence. First he had to put a few things to bed in Osgiliath.

When he arrived there was a stomach complaint sweeping through the city. It was more embarrassing than lethal, but a goodly number of the city crew was inconvenienced. Forshbrand was very sick and his right hand man Talfurmir was little better. The Elf rode over to the healing district for valdish leaves. When mixed with ocre-root in tea and a mild binding spell it slowed things down. He went to his usual shop. The Dalish ‘closed’ sign at the store across the street was still up. While the man was weighing the herbs, Nag Kath played the yokel by asking, “Induced healing? Whatever is that?”

The fellow looked up and grinned, “Tell me and we’ll both know. Hardly ever see the woman. That will be nine groats for both.”

Even strong tea at regular intervals takes a couple days to work so Nag Kath stayed in the barracks sidestepping men sprinting to the outhouse. The two surveyors had high fevers needing several applications to pull the heat. Word of the infirmity spread so Xangorand’s survey crew on the Neussan stayed in camp but sent word that they had the height for the gate of the chute below the waterfall. 

Nag Kath rode to them, which was appreciated. The Dwarf numbers were always contingent on having the aqueduct rise from the city since the drop from the mountain was the only end that could be changed. Thurgin estimated one hundred twenty feet from the lower pool over the first quarter mile. It was more like two hundred. That was not a problem since they could put the collection pond almost anywhere in those rocks. That would be a good winter project. He was gone a week.

Arriving home was a surprise. Deltra decided her windfall of silvers was as much as she would ever need and let the Kath women choose their own help. The redoubtable Miss Börndal hired a maid/cook named Turnlie Olar. She was a hefty woman of about the same age as Penula. Fat cooks were considered auspicious. These fourth and fifth-level housekeepers kept an eye on openings and when the woman’s employer moved to the Anduin, she was not out of work two days before coming to the Kath household. The cooking smells rivaled Aleurn’s in Dale. Like most cooks, she slept in the kitchen to stay warm.

Flor was even lovelier now that she wasn’t crying. Pen and Turnlie kept the place up while Flor decorated. There were Khandian rugs on the cold floor. Sconces and candle-stands were placed where humans needed light. Their bed had a very cozy comforter. She had even purchased perforated copper boxs to hold flowers and scents for the privy closets. Nothing was extravagant or expensive, just tasteful.

She was happy to see him and listened to his stories of hither and yon with genuine interest. As he got to know her better, he realized she had done this with Hermad. Somehow he imagined their lives completely apart. She went home four days before to talk to him. The Furrier accepted her decision but asked that the cause stated in sundering the marriage contract be shown as barrenness. She was about to protest but agreed for his sake.

Nag Kath and Flor took up where they left off upstairs with the same enthusiasm. While he was away she had overdue conversations with her older sister. Erneille Gouldson did not have her sister’ looks. Her father arranged a marriage to a prosperous cobbler on the second level. Unlike many in that situation, they fell in love and had two dear children now ten and four. Erneille had been reluctant to cause friction in her sister’s queer marriage but now that the girl was released, she gladly explained things any woman should know. Would Nag Kath like to meet them?

High hill folk seldom mix with the lower levels socially. They did in business, certainly, but not after work. She found it awkward to ask Nag Kath if she could invite them to dinner because he was known to Lords and seemed ever so important. More quietly, he was an incipient wizard. As the last living Uruk-hai, his standards weren’t as lofty as most supposed. And yes, he would love to dine with her family.

But first, they must come to the Syndolan Eve Party! Mr. Fobe was poorly, temporarily, he assured the Elf, but he would advise now that there was proper staff. Flor glowed at being named the Syndolan Neurae, or hostess. She was not a kept woman meant to stay out of sight. Flor was a respectable person whose circumstances had changed. She was here, he was glad of that, and this was probably as good a way as any to let the world know. Making the guest list was the first time he saw her leave her old life behind. Many of the people she knew were through Hermad. Until that was sorted, she would only invite those who accepted her for herself.

It was the best Syndolan Eve gala in the White City! Nag Kath printed the lyrics to traditional songs so those not from here or of different races could sing along with the musicians. Ambassador Took, Mr. Higgenboth and their wives came along with two other Hobbit friends. There were eight Dwarves, though not at the same time. The King and Prince did not attend, even though they were always invited first. But everyone else showed-up. Pen hired a woman to help Turnlie in the kitchen making all of the finger foods. Nag Kath even convinced her to try Elvish waybread, though it was lacking essential ingredients that could not be had for love or money. With spiced chickpea spread on top, no self-respecting Elf would touch it.

Having a hostess on his arm was new to almost everyone but they weren’t surprised. These two looked like they belonged together. She and her Elf sang and danced. She brought the Hobbits the tan ale they like and sang and danced with them. Flor and Tal spent some time together leaving Ecc and Nag Kath to speak with Master Cuhndar, the Dwarf toy maker. Importantly, the host made a point of talking with Flor’s sister Erneille and her husband Waldor, dressed in their holiday best. Everyone was so nice to them! They left early so they could watch the King’s fireworks with their little ones. Flor looked very thoughtful at that notion and kissed them home.

At nine they all walked outside to watch the fireworks. The King did himself proud. The night was unseasonably warm so they stayed for the presentation and then continued inside until around eleven. In Dale you had to throw people out at the two-bell but in Minas Tirith, folks wanted to be home by high-night.

Waving goodbye to the last, Nag Kath asked Flor, “Did your sister have a good time?”

“Yes. She does not drink spirits but enjoys good company. Thank you for letting them come.”

“They were as welcome as everyone else.”

“They left early to be with the boys for the fireworks. The young one is old enough to remember them this year.” 

Nag Kath sensed sadness in her. Walking upstairs he said, “Something is troubling you. Please tell me.”

“I felt her love for them. With Hermad I hoped to love my own. I had put that aside but it comes to me again. Please forgive me. This is my own sorrow.”

Nag Kath laid her on the bed and took her shoes off but then curled next to her still in their party clothes. He asked himself again if he was being fair. She had been plucked from a difficult situation to a better one but she had not had nearly enough time to ask, let alone answer, the question of what she truly wanted. If it was babies, he could not help. She knew his relationships had not fathered them. Flor did not say another word that night. He was also sure that she did not fully comprehend his heritage.

______________------______________

He was in his chair when she woke with a lazy stretch. He joined her in bed and asked, “Did you have a good time? Everyone enjoyed meeting you.”

“Yes, I did. You know more people than I thought. Someday you must tell me about them.”

“Aye, I will. Now, you are the Syndolan Neurae. What would you like to do?”

“Seeing Erneille reminded me of a garden da used to take us for picnics on the sixth. I haven’t been since I married.” Flor wondered if she should mention her marriage but decided the Elf wouldn’t mind. He didn’t. “I should like to go there. It will be cold and all the flowers gone, but that is what I would like to do.”

“Very well. Shall we see if there is any breakfast?”

“Mmmmm, breakfast can wait.”

Dressed warmly, Nag Kath and Florice walked up the switchback to the cheater-stair leading to the fifth and then stayed on the path to the sixth gate. There were private homes here but they all belonged to people who worked for the crown or were homes for embassy staff. Most of this area was administrative offices for the governance of the realm. On Syndolan Day it was deserted. The gate was open but the sentries were in the kiosk around the little stove. One of them recognized Nag Kath and waved them through. Flor thought they were just being friendly.

Her little garden had pleasant shrubs arranged in a star pattern with a view to the north. They walked the path to stay warm and had turned to leave when they heard the clatter of hooves. The gate to the seventh opened and two riders trotted out looking over the only large flat area on this level. Nag Kath recognized them as the vans of the King’s personal guard. 

Aragorn was coming.

Two more riders emerged and then a group of six with the King in front. Flor froze until her man said, “Bow, just like me.” She did. 

At the Lord’s signal, the company stopped a hundred feet away with him approaching alone. The commoners bowed again and Elessar said, “Nag Kath, my friend. What brings you out here on this cold day?”

That was the first time the King had called him friend. His friend replied, “We came to see the garden. Sire, may I present Mrs. Florice Murgrander, nee Gouldson. Flor, this is King Elessar Telcontar.”

The King bowed from his horse and said, “It is a pleasure, Mrs. Murgrander. Any relation to Horald Gouldson of the fifth foot?”

Flor was not used to addressing royal persons generally and not ones who knew her family, but she had been trained to maintain her composure, “Indeed, My Lord. He was my father.”

“He was a brave man and we are a great nation for men like him.”

Flor flushed visibly and said softly, “Thank you, Sire.”

Then, to his lady’s abject horror, Nag Kath joked, “You missed quite a party!”

“What, again?! I had a little gathering myself.”

“I should say. The fireworks were exceptional this year.”

Aragorn considered that and asked, “I don’t suppose Gandalf told you how to make those green ones in Orthanc?”

“I watched him mix the powders but not what they were. He thought the red Nazgul were his crowning achievement. I need to tell you about those. We had many guests. Where else does one find Hobbits dancing and Dwarves singing Syndolan songs? On a more practical note; I got the measurements for Lord Gimli’s cascade last week.”

The King rubbed his chin in famous fashion and said, “Good. Come by on Thursday and let me know how that is going. Mrs. Murgrander, I hope we see more of you.” Both of them bowed as Aragorn waved his troop up and joined the vans at the sixth gate.

Walking back down the hill Flor was agitated and kept looking at Nag Kath before finally blurting, “You chide our liege for not coming to our party?!”

“Someone has to.”

That took a moment to register. Then a smile bloomed on her face followed by a ladylike giggle. They never teach these society women how to laugh correctly.

______________------______________

Year five started much like year four. The crew working on the main trench continued as they had. The men closer to Osgiliath kept a steady pace of pillars and arches towards the rock. They should nearly be there by winter. Now it was time to bring the water down the mountain. 

The extra distance to move the water was trickier than just tossing a rock down the hill. All of the streams from the vale flowed into the center becoming the Neussan. They had to get a sizeable flow from the south side of the mountain to the west. Most of the way it would do that on its own but in a few places, the true course was back to the Neussan. A hundred experienced laborers were "borrowed" from the main line and a hundred new men got in each others’ way replacing them. First the old-hands rocked-in a chute through the crags. Some was natural. Some needed mortared sides. It would take them the rest of the building season. 

Nag Kath was away from Minas Tirith more than he had been since year two, mostly at the mountain. He got home every couple weeks for a few days, sometimes longer. Flor was settling in. When he was home they enjoyed each other’s company. This year that included the Feast of Tellarian. He and Flor joined Tim and Marie at the same building as his first Feast. The place had changed hands, décor and clientele several times since then but the mood was the same on this festive day. And just as before, a beautiful woman took him by the arm for an evening of enchantment. They occasionally visited private dance clubs near Flor’s old home. She was learning to relax. It took her a while to realize that Nag Kath demanded nothing of her. She wasn’t sure she liked that. Their intimacy was voluntary and enjoyed. Flor was starting to see friends from the fifth. In Dale, the Elf was called a Marrying-Man since he enjoyed that state. This was close. Years of constant work and solitude were melting the walls he built around himself after losing Eniece. He owed that to his new woman. 

Four days after the Feast, a letter arrived for her at his home from her notary. The terms of the separation were explained and if she would sign it, the document would be registered by the city clerk.

Divorces were much easier here than in Dale where separations needed a public stating of cause why the solemn agreement was sundered, something to do with Northman clan customs. Here, the parties only had to understand their rights. In this case, there were none. She made no claim and he had no dowry to return. Most folk had no paperwork at all. This was only needed if the marriage had been registered and because in this land, women could own property.

Flor was not quite sure how she felt about that. Her life had been dedicated to marriage, any marriage. She was free. That had never been part of the path. They cuddled on the couch and Nag Kath asked her again what she wanted. He was not sure if the tears were of relief or trepidation. Nag Kath never knew how women could cry and smile at the same time. Regaining her composure she said she wanted to stay.

Nag Kath held his chin in the most kingly of manners and said slowly, “Then I would very much like you to become my wife.” She nodded and cried some more.

_____________------_____________

There wasn’t much reason to wait. He suggested his Dale model of a small ceremony followed by a party they could leave anytime. Fifth-level ladies know all the wedding planners and she had to choose one to the disappointment of the rest. Attractive couples with money were not the norm. Tim was drafted as Groom’s Man and Erneille was Flor’s Bride’s Sayer. Magister Súvien pronounced them man and wife and it was done. They slipped out the hall before the third cask was tapped.

Nag Kath was away most of the next two months but then he hit a lull. Everyone was doing what they were supposed to. Except for overnight trips to Osgiliath, he spent his time with his new wife. Sometimes they went to the dance clubs near her old home. She liked that very much and was well coordinated. 

Unfortunately, that earned her riding lessons. She had never been on a horse in her life. They frightened her with their bulk and huge eyes. He appreciated that but eventually they would travel so this was not negotiable. Minas Tirith was big enough to have one female instructor who specialized in teaching sidesaddle and astride to women of station. And just as with Eniece, Flor came home sore and accepted his healing of tender areas but that got him no further.

Nag Kath started exercising again. Once or twice a week when he was home, he would run or ride to the archery range on the Pelennor. It was on a barren little patch of ground so far from the gates that only a fool would get behind the straw sheaves. Militia training had ended a month before but the best men stayed sharp. His skill was appreciated, especially when he emptied half his quiver in seconds. Several Lieutenants said if he was in town he should join them for next year’s practice.

Regalid had some admirers too. A Captain of Horse trotted by when he was shooting and called, “That is a handsome mount. Is he from Lossanarch?”

“Nay, Captain. I got him in Dale and owned his father too. He is mostly Rohan working lines with some of the local breeds mixed in along the way.”

The Captain drawled loud enough to be heard, “Well, I am sure these fellow are trying to enlist you in their company, but if you would prefer to raise your sights above lowly archers, be sure to speak with Lieutenant Galveese about the Fourth Mounted Lancers!”

That got the Captain some comparisons with the back of his horse from stout men of the bow. It was all in good humor and the cavalryman rode back to join his troop with a wave. On the same day next week, a party of riders cantered across the plain. Two of them peeled-off and approached the archers who were returning from the targets and trading coins after measuring hits. Captain Bessandol recognized Regalid and brought his King over for a look. Archers bowed and waited.

“Ah, Nag Kath. I hope you aren’t fleecing these poor fellows!”

“Nay, Sire. They won’t bet me.”

“That shows they are both brave and wise.” A compliment to the fighters and they appreciated it. “Please, good fellows, attend your practice. We are the safer for it.” The men bowed, smiled and went back to the draw line with winks and nods for the next round of wagers.

The King swung in the saddle and said, “Captain, this is the man who brings fresh water to your people in Osgiliath.” Back to Nag Kath he commented, “A Dalish horse. He is a beauty. Fiori here is also mostly Rohirric stock.” Changing his tone slightly so as not aggregate beauties, “And how is the lovely Mrs. Mac … forgive me, the woman in the garden?”

“She is now Mrs. Kath, My Lord.”

The King grinned and said, “That is splendid. Why don’t you bring her to the palace on Thursday for lunch?”

“We would be honored, Sire.”

After seeing to Regalid’s care, Nag Kath walked into his house and hung the bow and quiver on their pegs away from the sunlight. Then he gave his bride a hug and asked, “What are you doing on Thursday?”

“Denielle and I are going to look at the new laces in from Rohan. Those ladies are so clever.”

“You might want to put that off a day. The King invited us to lunch.”

Flor made a face like the whisker-fish when they are taken from the water. That was followed by a pair of blinks and a dozen questions asked at great speed about where, when, who and other things he did not know. He did know they would receive instruction, probably by the end of the day, outlining everything she asked. The kitchen, which should have been noisy preparing the evening meal, was silent as the depths, no doubt with ears straining to hear the slightest sound from the main room.

To answer one of her questions, Nag Kath casually offered, “Oh just any old dress, I suppose. It is only lunch.” There was no possibility a new garment could be made that fast, but like even the highest ladies of the land, her dresses were designed to be re-cut and resewn several times for fit and occasion. Nag Kath thought she looked stunning in anything she wore.

Two hours later, the house was still dead quiet with Nag Kath doodling some water contraption and Flor at the same table with forks and spoons three wide on both sides of a plate trying to remember which was used for which food. Occasionally she would look up at her useless husband, sigh and return to the place setting. Just when she was ready to burst, there was a knock. Pen was at the door like a duck on a hurn beetle. She walked over and handed the lady of the house a letter, addressed to Mrs. Kath, with the royal protocol for Thursday which answered every question she hurled at her insouciant orc.

Flor was a slow reader and read it three times before saying, “You knew this was coming, didn’t you?”

Without looking up from his sketch, and with a face that the finest Dukks players show when they hold consequtive cards in the dragon suit, he grunted, “If it is the Groather boy, I am still happy with Troxald's leathers.”

Pen stood by Florice like Nag Kath used to when he had given an Uruk Captain orders from above in case there were questions or excuses. The women looked at each other and shook their heads.

____________------____________

The man-cart was waived through to a palace side entrance. Flor had never been inside and only outside for occasional music or dance exhibitions. An attendant took them to the private room and made them comfortable. Their Highnesses arrived a few minutes later and allowed the Kath’s time to rise and bow before all four took their places.

Arwen always impressed. She could not make a bad face. Elves are hard to read. They might be able to tell plain as day among themselves. He would never gamble with them. The King aged very slowly but he had a few more gray hairs. It seemed odd for the most famous Man and Elf couple to be sitting with the exact opposite pairing.

Aragorn opened with, “Thank you for coming, and congratulations on your marriage. Mrs. Kath, may I present my Lady Wife, Queen Arwen Undómiel.”

Flor had gotten over her nerves and replied, “I am pleased to meet your Highnesses. Thank you for your invitation.”

Arwen calmed, “You are most welcome. My husband wanted to thank Nag Kath for his vision of bringing bring fresh water from the mountains.” Turning to Nag Kath she added, “I understand the work is going well.”

He rejoined, “Thank you, My Lady. It has gone well, although it is hard to judge day-by-day.”

Arwen actually seemed friendly, “I would be interested to learn how you shone like a silver statue standing in the river.”

“Ah, that! I was given a gift from the Wild Huntsman of Dunland in healing. Different races and humors have their own colors. Dark forces show as greenish black. Years ago I tested rivulets in Mirkwood and found two bad ones. The headwater stream was pure. Alas, we may need to wait for Minas Morgul.”

Flor asked him, “You turned color?”

“Yes, but just my own.”

She would pursue that later and turned to both of her hosts, “Nag Kath told me you are both healers as well. Sire, you helped my father recover from wounds after Morannon. He always thought kindly of your aid.”

“We were fortunate to have his courage in the line.” That made Flor very proud. Da had to resign his commission because of those wounds. She had never heard him praised as a warrior.

They talked about this and that. Nag Kath was glad to see Flor hold her own with grace and humor. As dessert was served, the King admitted, “I need to return to a little business, Nag Kath. You said you saw Radagast a few years back. Is he still in western Mirkwood?”

“He was then, Sire, but he expected to be out and about through the forest.”

“Is that how you would find him?”

Nag Kath replied, “Aye. He decides if and when to appear. I waited better than a week in the same camp. He would have been watching me for some of that. We know each other better now and he bade me welcome again.”

“I may need you to try in the spring. We have seen old troubles that may fall to his talents, a malady of the mind.”

The women were dead quiet; Arwen expecting this and Flor out of her depth. Nag Kath put his elbows on the table and leaned towards his liege asking, “Slow failing health and persons not seeming themselves?”

Arwen said levelly, “You know something.”

Nag Kath muttered, “Just a river away from old foes.” He looked to the royals and said clearly, “That is more a matter for healers than wizards. I will make a few inquiries. May I suggest we share a cup of wine with Colonel Rosscranith?”

Flor maintained perfect poise until the moment her shapely bottom hit the man-cart seat. “Nag Kath, whatever is happening?”

He said gravely, “My dear, you only know me as a mild-mannered public servant who does parlor tricks. That is how I want the world to see me. But I have been a very dangerous creature. I may have to be dangerous again.” He paused for a moment watching his breath fog in front of him. “I need to ask some questions and then go to Osgiliath for a few days. Please, do not fret. All will be well.”

She leaned her head on his shoulder as they rattled down the switchbacks. 


	8. Darkness Will Find You

**_Chapter 8_ **

**_Darkness Will Find You_ **

****

The next morning, not too early, he walked to the other side of the prow and knocked on Tal’s door. Ectilla welcomed him inside saying, “I will fetch mother. Please have a seat.”

Tal was just in the kitchen and appeared before the young woman left. He kissed her hand. She asked, “How is married life?”

“Lovely, thank you. You knew, didn’t you?”

Tal waved her hand as if it was nothing, “I guessed. You were just what she needed after Hermad, poor dear.”

“Tal, I’ve got to ask about our past. Do you know of any women like Mrs. Skilleth here in Gondor?”

She made a face of concentration and then replied, “Two, one in particular. I only met her once but saw her with Rosaldi other times.” He never knew Mrs. Skilleth even had a first name. Talareth gave her renowned eyebrow arch for, “May I ask why?”

“In Dale I fought a losing battle of wits with a witch. Reliable folk tell of similar troubles down here. These women sometimes know of each other.”

Tal asked, “Is this related to healing?”

“Barely. Mrs. Skilleth had other talents. Powers now denied Dark Lords will find those of us who can wield them. I said I would help.”

Tal said calmly, “Her name is Hürna. Healers congregate on the first level just north of the prow. Midwives are where you find them.” Her redheaded grit emerged, “Nag Kath! Don’t you kill yourself and make your pretty bride a widow!”

“I will do my best.”

Nag Kath had only wandered the first-level north of the prow a few times. This was the large market section of the city for goods that came from other lands or were made here for export. Four established herb shops were crammed along the hill side and perhaps that many more tents or booths in the open air. First Nag Kath strolled as if walking to the metal mongers just past. None of the permanent places said anything about Hürna or inductive healing. 

It was time to act stupid. Poking his head in a random door he asked an herb clerk if he new knew someone named Hurma. The man did not so Nag Kath tried the next door north. This time he got the proprietress who said, “What’s that to you young man?”

“I was told she could help me with a … a … well, it is a delicate matter.”

“Three doors further north. Sign says Herbal Remedies.”

The door was unlocked but no one was in the front. If she was good, she would know when visitors came. From the back he heard, “You’re early! Give me a moment.”

The woman came out of the storage room and stopped when she saw the towering lad. Except, she knew he wasn’t a lad. “What can I do for you, sir?”

“I was told you could help me with a delicate matter.”

“Depends.”

“It always does. Sounds like you have someone coming. This can wait.”

She hardened her face and demanded, “You say what you need to.”

“Very well. My name is Nag Kath. Have you heard it?”

“Can’t say it rings a bell.”

“I was a friend of Rosaldi Skilleth. We met in Trum Dreng long ago.”

Miss or Mrs. Hürna lowered her voice, “Sit down. Tea?”

“Thank you.”

She came back with a pot and poured two mugs, offering him his choice. “She told me about you. Never thought you would be here.”

“Me either. But now I need a few discreet answers. Some years back I ran across a witch in Dale, billed herself as a healer. She was casting Doureg spells on food and mind blocks among the gentry. Got clean away.”

The woman snapped, “Wasn’t me! I’ve been here my whole life!”

Nag Kath raised his palms, “Calm yourself, dear lady. I know that.” He thought he should be intimidating, “You would have never heard me if I thought different.” 

It didn’t work. “Rosaldi said you weren’t too bright.”

“True. Hmmm, good tea. I want to know if you know of someone, possibly from Dale, lately in Osgiliath or Dol Amroth, someone who works on contract. She wasn’t young twenty years ago if it is the same woman.”

“Not by name. But yes. Look in Osgiliath.”

Trying not to sound like a guardi Nag Kath asked, “Good with fire?”

“Probably. You go in; strike first and inquire afterwards. There might be two of them. You take care. Rose liked you more than you knew you deserved.”

Nag Kath slid two silvers across the rough table before saying, “I might have more questions. You never heard of me.” Pausing a moment he asked, “Can you heal those spells?”

She nodded. The coins were free so she didn’t bite them.

_____________-------_____________

The changeling collected Regalid from a post near the gate and rode to the river. They had made the trip to the Anduin many times. He stopped at the inn and left the horse at the stable before making his way to the herb district. Usually he would have found a table at a restaurant or public place and watched the door. The best he could manage here was walking into a feed store across the street and telling the lad that the tenner on the counter was his if Nag Kath could sit on a bag of seed and avoid his boss. 

No one came. No one left. After dark, there were no lights upstairs or down. Nag Kath thanked the clerk and had dinner at the inn. Dawn found him inviting himself in the healer’s back door. The smell explained the inactivity. She was sitting in a chair behind the main room, dead a month at least, so no landlord coming by to collect rent. 

He quietly looked for clues of a second sorceress. Someone had cleaned up all the obvious traces. Nag Kath sat next to the body figuring how the killer must have approached. Seeing no sign of violence he said, “You caused a lot of trouble in Dale. I wasn’t going to bring that up. Since you are dead, tell me who killed you. Take your time.”

Did the other woman, probably a woman, live here or did she just work here? Only the poorest woman would take every stitch of clothing she owned so he thanked his hostess and tried not to squeak going up the stairs. Nag Kath rifled the smaller room first. It still had all of the clothes and personal items. Who was mistress here? 

The larger room had been almost cleared. There were matches, a shawl, a summer skirt and shoes with a hole worn through one of them. He thought them about the same size as Eniece’s little feet. And there was a hair, less than a foot long and dark. He would look at that in better light. Nag Kath felt a trace of power in the room but had no feel for its origin. His last stop was perusing the spices. 

It was time to act dim again. Nag Kath walked into the milliner’s one door up with an obvious limp. Shuffling to the counter he whined, “Ma’am, do you know where the healer went? She hain’t been there for weeks and my cure hain’t takin’.”

The woman looked at the poor lad in obvious distress and said, “Which one dear?”

Cain’t remember her name. Small, short dark hair. Sometimes wears a flowered knit scarf.”

“That’s Dierdreth. Haven’t seen her in a while. Maybe Mrs. Ingrall knows how to find her.”

Mrs. Ingrall wasn’t saying so he pulled at threads. “Dierdreth? First name or last? Oh, please forgive me, I don’t mean to beard you like this.”

“Don’t worry, young man. I don’t mind. I never knew her last name.”

He said ruefully, “I suppose it don’t matter now.” He shifted as if his groin was on fire. “Do you know if anyone else was taking her patients?”

The dear lady thought a moment and said, “You might try Saucerze, though that’s in the Florand district.” She winced at his discomfort, “Something of a walk, I’m afraid.”

“Oh bless you ma’am. I’ll go there straight away.”

Saucerze; no Northman name for sure. There was a tavern across the street from a business selling herbs in bulk to smaller shops. Nag Kath had an early lunch with a pint and told the server to keep the change of a tenner. That bought him a window seat and a reason to sit there as long as he liked. A well-dressed man left for lunch and came back an hour later. At closing time he and a younger woman locked the door and went in different directions. The sorcerer followed her. If she was involved in fell curses, she did not act guilty. The woman made her way east and climbed the back stairs of a rooming house after petting a cat near the horse trough. 

The next day at noon, Nag Kath tipped his hat to the man leaving the store for his lunch and walked inside. The woman came forward to help. She had long, curly Rohan-red hair and bigger than average feet. Nag Kath said, “Your pardon, Miss, the lady next to Dierdreth’s said this place might be able to help with my healing since she is not there.”

Again, there was no apprehension in her demeanor. The woman cleared her throat and answered, “I took a few folk when she left but that’s been a while. What ails you, young man?

“Oh, the usual. In truth, I need some answers. It seems she has ruffled some feathers in the south.”

The woman became defensive, “Then you will need to talk to Mrs. Ingrall!”

“Someone put a knife in Mrs. Ingrall’s eye.” He stretched the truth but needed to make an impression. “Unless you feel like explaining that to the guardi, I suggest you tell me what I need to know.” When a reddish complexion goes pale, only the freckles are left. By the time the proprietor returned from lunch, Nag Kath knew everything the redhead did.

Dierdreth Iburlnith took the ferry south to Pelargir and presumably from there to the Ethir Anduin. And if she was up to mischief in Dol Amroth, she would have needed a horse or a ship to get there. He figured a ship. So she had money. Nag Kath was not going to learn more in Osgiliath so he stopped in at his house if anyone needed him and then back to Minas Tirith for snuggling with Flor.

_____________-------_____________

“Thank you Sire, she is well. And good day, Colonel.”

Rosscranith offered his big hand and followed with, “Hello Nag Kath. His Lordship and I were just recalling old times.”

Nag Kath sat at the table in the King’s private office and folded his hands. This was his idea so he started, “Yes, there are some old ghosts come to call. I am probably not betraying any state secrets and they serve the need of friends and allies. Sire, this goes back to the time when the Colonel and I met in Dale. “One of the southern Thains was under the influence of a witch and contracted with dissident Easterling mercenaries for dirty jobs. The woman was poisoning Queen Delatha with sorceries and later tried to kill the King by affecting the mind of the Thain’s daughter. The conspiracy was traced as far as one of Bard’s advisors but, as far as I know …,” looking at Rosscranith, “... the witch was never exposed.”

Rosscranith had no objection to the old story coming out and helped, “Indeed. My Lord Bard was able to make a lasting peace with the survivors. The Queen bore a fine son who is now heir and the Easterlings settled their internal squabbles, at least to the point that they seldom spill over the river … especially after Nag Kath here chopped the mercenaries into small pieces.”

King Elessar had not heard that part of the tale and Nag Kath did not correct the Colonel. People believe what they want. He did take the story from there, “Colonel, the witch is dead at least a month in Osgiliath, and probably at the hands of an assistant or student of greater power. The woman took a ferry down the Anduin. And now, Sire, I must ask what she has been up to.”

Aragorn was troubled. “Can either of you describe the symptoms or sorceries in the northern realm?”

Rosscranith looked at Nag Kath who was looking at the table. The Elf raised his eyes and saw it was still his turn. “In the first case, the witch was casting a spell over a common cooking spice that causes an unborn child to drain his mother. We think the counselor administered it. The Queen was very sick. I removed the bulk of the spell. Then an honest local healer made sure it was gone. At the same time, we think the witch had affected the minds of both the Thain and his daughter. The young woman was conditioned to assassinate King Bard. When the first part failed the second part was doomed, but the poor girl was sore confused. Again, I healed most of the spell and the expert finished the job.”

King Elessar thought for a moment and then said, “Colonel, I am sorry to take you away from your mission but this seems to affect us all. Erchirion, second son of Prince Imrahil, has been … unwell, confused, imagining things that are not there. One might think he was just another man whose mind is taking him from the harshness of life, but he had been an exemplary knight until recently.”

Nag Kath asked, “Has he been recently treated for a more common malady?”

The King replied, “I do not know.”

Rosscranith offered, “Good point, Lord Kath. That was the pattern in Dale. The old Thain had stomach complaints and hired a healer who was secretly in the employ of one of Brand’s counselors. I would like to have put the healer you found to the question.”

Nag Kath continued that line, “One must watch both the knife and the hand. These women work for hard cash. Sire, where is Erchirion in the line of succession?”

Aragorn did not know the changeling was a lord. Smiling slightly he admitted, “Lady Arwen keeps up with such things better than me. He has an older brother who has a son and a younger brother as well. His sister is the Queen of Rohan.”

The Colonel took it like a terrier, “Please tell me if this is out of my purview, but it would seem the Prince is the ultimate target. Does the afflicted man have children of his own?”

The King shook his head, “I cannot say, but we can discover that directly.” He rang a small bell on the table and the attendant walked in. “Please have Scribe Ostlieth attend us.” The attendant walked outside and only a few moments later a small man with a confusion of sandy hair stepped in with his folio and bowed. Aragorn asked him, “Does Lord Erchirion have children?”

Ostlieth was the keeper of facts, the memory of the land. “Two teenage daughters. I sent them hairpins in your Highness’ names for their birthdays this year, Sire.”

“As always, thank you.” The man bowed and left.

Nag Kath looked to the Colonel and asked, “Whatever happened to the girl from Nauthauja? I lost track after the upset.”

Rosscranith thought back and replied, “I think she moved to Belfalas.”

___________-------___________

It was time to visit Mrs. Hürna again. In very sober dress and with one of his brim hats he walked down to the first level for herbs. The woman was in the front of the shop helping a midwife from the north-fourth restock her supplies. Nag Kath waited patiently.

“So you’re back. Thought you might be. Find anything interesting?”

“Indeed, Mrs. Hürna. You were right on a pair of points. It was Osgiliath, a Mrs. Ingralls, now dead as fall leaves. She had someone working with her who left town in a hurry, downriver it seems. I suppose I should ask; are you available for longer-term consulting?”

“Ha! What do you think? I reduced a goiter last week that had me spewing for two days. Not as young as I used to be. Rose said you could just fling ‘em off.”

“I am out of practice. And I never developed my sorceries. Let me tell you a story.” He explained what happened in Dale with particular detail on the Lostorin poisoning and confusion. That included his well-meant but fumbling counter-spells. “And now, similar trouble is brewing in Belfalas. I have been asked to explore options.”

She evaluated him unsparingly, “One of these days maybe you’ll tell me what you are. In the meantime, what is this to me?”

In his best Elf-Lord face, Nag Kath leaned forward, “Help me and you will retire in style. It means travel, hard choices and nobody knows nothing. Here is a Florin on faith.”

She had not seen a real gold Florin in years. It would buy the store with everything in it and she still could not make change. Nag Kath continued, “Give me a few days to get what I need and then we will take the ferry to the Ethir Anduin. From there we sail to Dol Amroth. Do you know anyone in your line there?”

“Probably not. What do I need?”

“I think you had better assume that the remedies you use cannot be had there. Get nice clothes and something to suggest you are a widow-woman retired from the dullest trade anyone would be sorry they asked. I will arrange transportation.”

“Do you know what you’re gotten into Nag Kath?”

“Not yet.”


	9. The Care of Princes

**_Chapter 9_ **

**_The Care of Princes_ **

****

Flor was upset that he had to leave for so long. And she knew it was dangerous. He must float down the great river and take a ship to the other side of Belfalas. But she would be dutiful and keep his house while she waited. 

Mrs. Hürna had never ridden a horse in her life. If needed, she would not get the gradual training Nag Kath’s wives had either. Hopefully they would use public transportation, starting with a carriage to the dock just outside the remnants of the Rammas Echor wall. Ferries stopped here for passengers and freight on their way to the sea from Osgiliath. Their adjoining rooms were not even as large as his privy closet. She bought matronly clothes and set herself up as the respectable widow of the dearly beloved Nouram Tichbolder; purveyor of quicklime. The woman had a sense of humor. She was forty seven, thin like most healers and ‘missus’ was affected for propriety. Widows were treated better than spinsters. Nag Kath told her about Miss Quessan in Dale. She was purely a healer and could not conjure maladies. He had not spent much time with Mrs. Skilleth whose powers would have been stronger. Talereth did not come up. 

She asked a lot about him. He gave her what he knew which confirmed what Rosaldie said; he did not know how dangerous he was. Most men would have lorded such abilities over their fellows for power or money. Nag Kath did not seem interested in either. She supposed that when one lives forever, there is no need to plan for the future. And he seemed to have plenty of geld for day-to-day expenses. He did show her his ability to attract small objects to him. On water that talent was stronger.

______________-------______________

Please refer to the maps: Pelargir 1665, Pelargir aerial, Belfalas and Dol Amroth city for reference. [https://imgur.com/gallery/jHPlDU8](https://imgur.com/a/mbXUOO4)

Floating to Pelargir took five days. The Ferry tied-up at little towns or piers each night. Getting back up that river would be more complicated. Prevailing breezes worked against the river but weren’t reliable. Other than the barges across Dunnish rivers this was his first trip on water.

Pelargir was and always had been a critical port. For the last two hundred years it was the crown jewel for control of the Anduin and fiercely contested by Gondor and Umbar until the war. Like the barge camp on a much bigger scale, this was where the river became navigable for different craft. Deep-water keels would catch more easily on the shifting bottom upstream, though it could be done. And the shallow-hulled freight boats could be tossed like gourds when they reached the sea. 

After getting rooms at an inn near the deep-water ships, Nag Kath begged a day’s grace to visit the city and see if he could find Lentaraes Maedegon. This was where his family had a granary all those years ago. Widow Tichbolder booked passage on one of the ocean vessels to Dol Amroth and did a little exploring of her own.

Pelargir was bigger than he thought. Questions and coppers changed hands until Nag Kath discovered the family still had a business on the Sirith side of the river delta. It was a good sized building. Folk brought their wheat or barley here and the Maedegon mill would grind it to flour for storage or shipment. A workman showed him to the office.

Mr. Maedegon was at home today. Would he like to try again tomorrow? Tomorrow Nag Kath would be on a ship so he asked where the home was. The foreman was not inclined to say until a tenner found his pocket. The Lentaraes he knew often had husbands or fathers in a lather so he understood the foreman’s discretion. 

The home was a mansion. He knocked and an elderly cove in livery asked him to state his business. “I am Nag Kath, an old friend of Mr. Maedegon just off the ferry on the way south. Is he at home today?”

“Mr. Maedegon does not see visitors without an appointment.”

“Very wise of him. My name will either matter or not. I will wait here on the porch.”

Unannounced guests were seldom so cooperative so the steward nodded and closed the door. Five minutes later, he returned and told the tall stranger to follow him inside. They made their way to a pleasant room that might have been a library but for the lack of books. A minute later, Lentaraes joined him with a beaming smile.

Middle-age had not been kind. The former ladies-man had put on two stone. His black hair was thinning. Nag Kath saw the damage of alcohol on his face and thought he caught a whiff of barley under hastily chewed anise seeds. “Why Nag Kath! If you aren’t a sight for sore eyes?!” The miller nodded to the steward that he could leave and then sat down on a couch, gesturing that the Elf should do the same. “You are back! And you found me.”

“I knew your family had a business here, and Tim said you had returned. It is good to see you. I think of you often.”

“Thank you for coming. Are you staying long?”

Nag Kath shook his head, “Ruefully no. I leave tomorrow for Dol Amroth.”

“I have wondered of you as well, and glad to see you weren’t turned into a toad!”

That brought a true Nag Kath grin, “I wasn’t as banished as I thought. It has been quite a tale with wizards, Elves, demons and some fierce fighting to stay alive. Good times too. Now I am a married fellow and do architecture for Gondor.”

“They let you back, did they? Good.”

“Lentaraes, are you still painting?”

The man’s face fell a little bit, “From time to time. I’m afraid the family business has swallowed me up. And speaking of swallowed-up, can I offer you refreshment?”

“Cool tea if it is handy.”

Lentaraes pulled a rope and the steward was back within the minute. “Cool tea, Vergere.” He wasn’t asked for that often. As the steward left Nag Kath saw one of his own pictures on the wall. “Ah, I had forgotten about this one.” It was a small study of a girl of about ten drawing figures in the dirt. Next to it was one of Lentaraes’ paintings of the third level prow-fountain. He did not see any that weren’t of Minas Tirith and he did not ask.

Dissipated was the word. The man did something he did not like and had abandoned what he loved. Barley spirits often intrude on such conflicts. Changing the subject from art, Nag Kath asked, “Now what happened to Marlett?”

“Marletta. She moved down here with me but then moved back. The river was not to her taste. You know me. Women come and go.”

The Elf said, “I moved to Dale and had a wife there for the longest time. A wasting took her. I have remarried, a woman from the White City.”

Lentaraes thought back and asked, “As long as we are asking of old, how about the brunette you were seeing?”

“Kataleese? I don’t know. As you say, they come and go.” He did not feel that way at all, but this was not the time to discuss fidelity. Nag Kath stayed for lunch and more good-natured talk but after the meal, they said everything they could have. Nag Kath had a future. Lentaraes had a past. They met in the middle with promises to see each other again.

_________________-------_________________

Back at the inn, Widow Tichbolder said she bought remedies that were fresher than her own, cheaper too. Living nearer the sea had its charms. She also bought clothes more in the style of Belfalas. Nag Kath had not considered his own entrée into the closed world of Dol Amroth. By accounts high and low, it was an ancient and hallowed place with pretensions of Numenorean and even Elvish blood. As one of the principal ports of empire, the city and region were considered the nexus of culture. Some folk were pure Dúnedain, tall, proud warriors and fair ladies. New fiefs of the Reunited Kingdom now had Princes too, but this was the only Principality of old. Nag Kath had confidence in his adaptability and would sort that out when they docked. For now he had another four day journey to the river mouth and then six days at least, weather willing, to the Bay of the White Ships behind the peninsula. 

Sea travel was interesting. They had to fight the breeze on the way west by tacking back and forth making the hull strain against the sail. The Elf spent much of the time on deck watching every move the skilled sailors made. The hardened men took a shine to the baby-faced lad and would talk to him between trimming the mainsail. They told him these were mild breezes and seas but that did not stop a few passengers from being violently ill. Mrs. Hürna was green about the gills for the first two days in deep water until she applied her own healing. Once the Mealö cleared the dangerous rock islands jutting southwest, they tacked northwest well into the bay before turning right and running with the wind to the mouth of the Ringol River. 

Dol Amroth was on the tip of a peninsula. All of the people lived on the Bay of the White Ships because it was protected and relatively flat. The rest of the spur was defended by steep cliffs descending into pounding surf. 

Their ship primarily carried cargo so they docked in the Commercial harbor quays nearest the mainland and found an inn nearby. Nag Kath’s tried-and-true method was to stay in better than average accommodations and act the curious innocent. That might be harder here. Many of the people looked like him. He still dressed and groomed himself as a man but so did they. He had been told by someone that to get information you should either talk with the lord or the dock hands. He would start low.

That night he dressed modestly and went to a sailors’ tavern near the quay. Three weeks with men of the water gave him a base course in their life. The plan was to ask a few folk about where to stay and go while his ship was under repair. He did not know how tribal these sailors were. Nag Kath struck up a conversation with a nut-brown fellow whose thin hair was held in a knot using mast pitch. The ale was tolerable and the quarters close as forty men huddled against the cold. 

The salt was just telling Nag Kath where sea-dogs could find companionship when three louts from across the room walked over insulting the sailor’s mother, family and ship. The weather-beaten mariner never met his mother, but his ship was a thing of beauty and certainly finer than the privy buckets these dougshs bailed to keep from sinking.

A flying mug missed wildly but the punches were better aimed. Since the Elf was sitting with the man, a sea-dog threw a fist at him too. Very quickly, one of the three was thrown through the window and the other two just missed. Only the brown man saw the blur but everyone saw the result. Whistles sounded outside as half a dozen ribboned guardi burst into the room with truncheons ready for heads.

Sailors in the room squeezed away from the two at the end of the bar. One of the guards swaggered over to inquire who deposited their drinking companion into the Prince’s street. They knew who did it just by the way the rest of the men were keeping their distance so Nag Kath said in a voice to suggest he was just out of leading strings, “Sorry sir, they said terrible things about my mother.”

His companion would not let him take the blame alone so he added, “Called my ship goat dougsh too!”

The Guardi nodded grimly and said, “All right you two, I know just the place to sleep this off.” They walked between the squad out the door to the local gaol. The Sarn’t knew they were neither drunk nor at fault but they did not need to be breaking windows at tax-paying establishments either. 

Nag Kath had been in both better and worse cells. There were few gaols of mortals that could hold him if he really wanted to leave. Fourteen men were already in the single, barred room and the night was young. He would get some information and probably a bowl of gruel in the morning. His knife was confiscated but what little money he had was left in his pockets. It seemed the drunk-cell was known for Dukks games to keep the men behaved. His brown friend slid down the wall so Nag Kath did the same. “I figured you for a greenbottom, lad. But you settled those short-haulers and no error.”

“A fellow has to defend himself, eh?”

“Just so! I’m Hondrus. Pleased to meet your acquaintance.”

“Nag Solvanth. Did any of those punches land?”

“Nay, I got one in before you spoiled all the fun. Solvanth, northern name?”

Nag Kath looked at a man leering at him. These sailors get lonely. He answered, “Da got around.” It was time to get to work, “Pox is back in the Anduin. Glad to be out of there.”

Several men in the tight cell heard that. One asked, “What kind of pox?” Men of the sea often carried or just missed illness that could devastate a community.

“They weren’t powerful sick. Made men stupid.” In here that might be splitting hairs but it would get the conversation going.

“A player at the dukks circle exclaimed, “In this town we call that ale!”

That got him some well-deserved laughs but another man, who did not look like he had been hauled in for abusing the barley, said quietly, “Word of that here, up the hill.”

Over the crush was heard; “They’s always simple!” to more laughs.

Nag Kath took control of the yarn, “What would cause a man to forget his name and purpose? It cannot come from bad water or rats in the grain.”

Everyone in the room had something to add. One said, “I hear’ed the same. I don’t think it is pox at all, some sort of sorcery!”

Before anyone else could change the subject, the beardless lad dismissed that as women’s talk. A few at the card circle took issue. They hadn’t seen the youngster throw three men across a room either. “See here, boy. There are powers out there waiting. I don’t know about the Ethir, but round here, those old humors die hard.”

Chastened, Nag Kath confessed, “I have much to learn. What would a fellow do if he was confounded like that?”

A man from the end of the circle said almost to himself, “There’s them as know the old ways in the Old Town. Pretty lad like you shouldn’t ask too directly, if you take my meaning.”

“That is good counsel, my friend.”

_____________-------_____________

Nag Kath did get porridge and a family of fleas with his research. He got his knife back too. A toy that small wasn’t worth confiscating. Mrs. Hürna admired his dedication when he returned after taking the long way here. He had a letter of introduction to Prince Imrahil but could not present it smelling like this. And there was still low work left. He made sure all the vermin went down the drain of the only bathtub on the floor.

The Old Town of Dol Amroth was old indeed. It was on the low side of a creek coming from jagged rocks ringing the outer city. These were mostly commercial buildings or apartment houses with many families. The better homes looked down from the hills. There were three of the usual healers and herb shops but they looked like they had been here a while. Mrs. Hürna was with him this time as they both felt for kindred, or other, spirits.

Almost to the Gate Town they both sensed something at the same time. She was the expert so he asked, “What is that?” 

“Power. I cannot say good or bad. Sometimes it depends on who claims it. This way.” They walked at a speed suggesting neither haste nor purpose past a warehouse with a wagon dock on the street side. A door down the feeling faded. 

The mismatched couple rounded the block coming up the other side but neither of them noticed anything. They waited until getting a few blocks towards their inn before he asked, “Any other ideas?”

“Either one person with strong powers or more with middling.”

Nag Kath needed a benchmark. “Mrs. Skilleth knew immediately that I was different. So did you and so did Gandalf. This I felt also. What is that sense?”

“Power. You said you draw from water so that is harder to tell. Earth is easy. Air somewhere near the center. Fire surprises.”

The Elf observed, “I did not feel that in you.”

“Haven’t used mine lately. But these dougshs have.”

He said practically, “I need a look in there but do not want to give myself away. Is it the people or the place?”

“People. I am no hand at throwing bad ‘uns through walls. Bring your sword.”

“In Dale, the dead witch threw fire. Gandalf worked in fire. Is there anything I need to know about that?”

They kept quiet as they collected their keys and went to his room. “Fire, eh? Doesn’t mean the younger woman got it but yes, I know fire.” Mrs. Hürna showed him a small counter-spell to deflect a burst. “Now, what is this ‘fast’ you talk about?” A second later he was standing beside her, “AHHHHH! Never do that again!” When her heart slowed she spat, “What was that?!”

“Birthday present from Saruman.”

“He trained you?”

“He made me.” Nag Kath asked how not to leave a trace of his own and she gave him another spell to say leaving a place. It would not kill it, but it should hide the traces among residual powers. Nag Kath realized that the witch of the capital of the world was probably the strongest left. There might be sorcerers and tricksters out in the hinterlands but that was hard work for little reward.

_____________-------_____________

By the half moon he returned to the building and slipped in the alley on the other side. The door lock was not complicated. Whoever was in here earlier could handle intruders cruelly. There could also be tripwires, both magical and real, to discourage the curious. He sensed none. These were confident villains. A single window gave him enough light to see. The large room was nearly empty but for a long table against the window wall with several small boxes of powders. He folded a sample of each into notepaper and then looked for hidden tells. There was nothing above. A cat yawned. That could be a bad sign but it was a real cat that gave him an annoyed glance before going back to sleep. He was out in ten minutes after almost forgetting his new spell to confuse the humors.

In morning light Mrs. Hürna looked at the powders. Two she knew as sorcerous poisons, recently cursed. The third was unknown. Nag Kath carefully watched her examine the contents. When they were done, he took her to a spectacle-maker and waited while the generously-compensated man crafted a pair that pinched the bridge of her nose. Those would have been unimaginable for her last month. Now they were essential. She was not so vain as to refuse. 

It was time to visit Prince Imrahil. The palace was not easy to reach. Dol Amroth was the shape of an egg dropped from waist-height. The citadel was on the plateau of an inner bluff and walled all-round – both for defense and to gather every drop of rain to supply the city fountains. This was the finest blend of Numenorean and Elvish design Nag Kath had seen in all his travels. Part of that may have been that it hadn’t been destroyed often. He could spend a year sketching everything. Someday he might. 

Learned men knew other ways but he entered through one of the sentry posts along what was called the Prince’s Way and presented himself at the castle gate. The letter he kept in his jerkin. He gave the guard a pass token with the white tree of Gondor inlaid in chloer wood sporting a small, red jewel at the base. It was supposed to get him quick access to the prince. Nag Kath hoped the guard wouldn’t keep it and tell him to shove-off.

The man called another guard over to hold his position while he waited in the kiosk for his Sergeant to return. That took half an hour. When Sarge arrived, he stared at the pass for a moment and made the gate on the double. “Terribly sorry for your wait, sir. This is something of a climb without a horse. Shall I get one for you?”

“Nay, Sergeant. I’ll stretch my legs.” That meant the Sergeant would not ride either. The entrance started with an outer bailey on a pleasant dome of a hill leading to the inner bailey gate. Inside the second were perhaps two dozen small buildings that Nag Kath supposed were either servant homes or the craftsmen who keep the residence up. Both paths were less than a quarter mile combined. The Sergeant must have given a secret sign because the stockade doors opened before they got there. The long hall led to the castle itself which was an old-style square with corner turrets and the keep along the cliff wall.

As with every trip to the mighty, Nag Kath was seated on a bench while functionaries bustled, sure they had their Lord’s most important task. His did. Only ten minutes later, he was shown by two guards as tall as him to a sumptuous office. The Prince was sipping cold tea. Nag Kath bowed and waited.

Prince Imrahil was cut from the same cloth as the other Numenorean descendants. He was tall, handsome, gray-eyed and looked like he could handle himself in a scrap. He also did not suffer fools gladly. Nag Kath knew he was in his early eighties, so younger than Aragorn but showing more wear. The man cleared his throat and said in a soothing voice, “How can I help my Liege?”

“I have a letter for you and a personal report to follow, My Lord.”

The man took the envelope over to a desk near the window and broke the seals. He either read slowly or read it several times. Never entirely servile, Nag Kath wondered if he might have gotten a better price for two pairs of spectacles yesterday. 

Finally, the Prince looked up and said, “It seems you are both the messenger and the message. Come sit down.” Nag Kath made himself comfortable in one of two chairs facing the desk. “You have personally seen this, this business?”

“It seems beyond coincidence.”

The Lord did not want snooping from the White City. He and Aragorn were very close in peace and war. But like his fathers before him, the man had free reign in this majestic land. “Very well, I will assign private guards to assist you, in accordance with our laws.”

“That won’t be necessary, sir. I am here because I work quietly, without traces."

"No exceptions, young man. What will you do now?”

Nag Kath thought for a moment and said, “I understand the restaurant next to my inn cooks the blue Odar fish to perfection. I will dine there tonight and book passage home.”

The Prince was not used to being addressed thusly. Though not a man quick to anger, being sassed by a beardless boy would never do. “I think I have heard about enough. Give my respects to our liege when you return!”

The Prince’s tea mug flew across the desk into Nag Kath’s silver palm. He was not sure the magic would work, but since it did, he could not seem surprised. Nag Kath gazed at the surface and said, “Imagine sorcery so foul that a man’s son will cut his eyes out to escape visions that are not there.”

In his Elf Lord visage, Nag Kath looked at the shocked Prince and finished by saying, “Your friend offered you his hand. Thank you for seeing me, Your Highness.” He rose and bowed. Once out the door, Nag Kath whispered the name of the inn to the attendant.

_______________-------______________

“Well, you showed him who’s boss!” Mrs. Hürna wasn’t sure whether to be angry or pleased. She glowered at Nag Kath for the next clue.

He was philosophical, “How many times have you pulled a hangover from a man who got drunk the next night?” He looked at her seriously, “Some cannot be saved. I played my cards. We will see what he decides. Either way, you get another four Florin when we reach home. Now, are you ready for blue Odar?”

He expected a soldier. What he got was a thin man of average height and a face no one could remember five minutes later. Nag Kath knew this was a complete professional, and very dangerous. There wasn’t much to talk about. Mrs. Hürna was needed this time. They bowed before the Prince in a more formal hall. Nag Kath introduced his associate by her real name and Imrahil led them to a lovely, small room with windows facing the sea. Tea was served as they sat. When they were alone the Prince said, “You do not play fair, Nag Kath.”

The Prince saw his first grin, “I am quite charming when you get to know me.”

“Let me hear the report I would not listen to yesterday.”

Nag Kath started with Dale long ago and brought it to the dead witch in Osgiliath. Mrs. Hürna and he then explained events since. It was rehearsed and went quickly without question or comment. The Prince then began a painful and personal story, “My second-born is a fine man, now 45 years old with a lovely wife and two girls approaching marriageable age. All three of my boys were taught to be leaders that our people can respect. All three have made me proud.”

Prince Imrahil took a long draw of the hot tea and sighed, “Six months ago Erchirion started acting strangely. He could not remember things. He got angry over nothing, which is not like him. Two months ago it got much worse. His daughters are frightened. His company has changed as old friends are neglected.”

Mrs. Hürna gently interrupted, “Sir, was this occasioned by a more common malady for which he sought aid?”

When Nag Kath turned his head to hear the woman, the Prince saw his Elf ear for the first time. Imrahil recovered quickly and said, “I do not know. An infection on his arm was slow to heal. My family is hard to hurt. He has not mentioned it.”

Nag Kath followed with; “This is a deeply unfair question but I would like you to consider if your immediate family line failed, who are the likely successors, especially men who would act reluctant at the honor. Whoever commissioned this is already cultivating support. I don’t need to know now, but please think about it.”

The Prince nodded.

The blonde man continued, “The fellow who came today; I expect he is more useful than big, noisy soldiers. Might he serve in compliance with your laws?”

“I was right. You do not play fair.” 

_______________-------______________

When they were leaving the palace Mrs. Hürna asked, “So, we are working for Elessar of Gondor to protect the line of Dol Amroth?”

“That about sums it up.”

“I asked some questions about you before we left. You are pretending to build the water line from Mordor?”

“No, that is my day job, but a man needs hobbies.”

Mrs. Hürna thought this preposterous Elf was the very definition of the saying; ‘the best defense is a good offense’. “So, what is next?”

He smiled, “That is why you are here. Tomorrow we’re going to heal the son.” 

She said, “I can’t take a burst like I felt at that go-down.”

“I will take the worst of it. You clean up.”

“And you know how to do that?”

“Not yet.”

This creature was infuriating. Wasn’t he afraid of anything? “Assuming we live, what then?”

“We act when the witches begin the next summoning. Our new friend is going to lurk near that building and follow who leaves after their spell fails. Then we’re going to find their friends. There will only be a few men who could hope to step in after they kill the Prince.”

“You told me they are trying to kill his son.”

Nag Kath kept up his pace, “They are trying to control the son. You have to get rid of the heirs so the fiefdom turns to you in time of need.” At least, that was how Finrales tried in Dale.

They turned at the first sentry post along the Prince’s Way to the highest residential sector of the city called the Castle Quarter, just over the wall from the lower bailey. Nag Kath checked an address he had written on a scrap of paper and walked past it with the witch to that side so he could talk at her while scouting the home. A house half a block across the street had an untrimmed garden. He knocked on the door. When no one answered they continued down the street and then came up the back alley to let themselves in. The home was decorated in Gondoran fashion, probably summer residents. 

Nag Kath admitted, “I have already made two mistakes. One; the second son has been afflicted for six months but Mrs. Ingrall only died three months ago at most. I failed to ask the herbalist when the younger woman left. I just assumed it was after the murder. So either Dierdreth wasn’t here for the start of the malady or she didn’t kill the old lady. She might have nothing to do with this, but we know two witches are casting doureg spells in Dol Amroth … and it’s not the flower guild.

“Second, the girl who was bewitched in Dale lives across the street. She is susceptible and the old woman probably knew she was here. Her name is Durnalath. She might have nothing to do with this either, but I’d like to see who visits. If you are wondering, I don’t think she would remember me.” He gently pushed her a few feet back. “We need to stay away from the window so the glare won’t show our shadows.”

Skilleth was wrong. This one had a mind like a bacon-slicer. He organized the last charge of the Revanthars. He was doing the same thing here. A few hours later, a rotund blonde woman came outside with a watering can to sprinkle Dalish belustra flowers in a window box. Wrong color blonde. Not dressed for home-ownership. 

Nearer to dusk, a man-cart arrived and the lady of Nauthauja stepped out handing the puller a coin. The burly woman opened the door as her mistress stopped to sniff the balustras. She looked happy as she talked to the servant with no shuffle in her walk. When it was dark, Nag Kath and Mrs. Hürna left quietly and returned to the inn. He described how the Thain’s daughter shambled in her brother’s house and could not focus. Not the same symptoms today. He would hold her in reserve, even if only to tell her that that woman responsible for her torment and her father’s murder had gone to her reward.

________________------_______________

Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth was not looking forward to this. When Mrs. Hürna felt today’s series of humors pulsing into the citadel, she nodded to his Highness; the signal for an attendant to summon his second son. In his quarters, murderous impulses began driving Erchirion against the deep love of his father. He fought them, but he was slowly losing. When told his revered father wanted him, Lord Erchirion pleaded indisposition, pain behind the eyes, could one of his brothers come instead? – anything to not be close while his madness was at it’s worst. 

Very well, he would walk up the corridor to the meeting room. Nag Kath never let him get there. The man was boxed between guards on either end. One moment the Elf was standing forty feet away. The next he was holding the third heir’s head with both hands creating a nauseous glow on both. Lord Erchirion uttered the same wounded cry as Durnalath and collapsed on the stone floor. Nag Kath staggered slightly and leaned over putting his head near his knees. Two guards picked the stricken Lord off the floor and took him to a ready cot. Mrs. Hürna was waiting there and completed the purge with only minor discomfort. 

Forgotten, Nag Kath trudged into the room a few minutes later and looked at the folk gathered around the sleeping Lord. He slid down the polished stone wall the same way he had in the gaol a few nights before and smiled. The changeling had taken a massive blow of dark magic and passed it to earth. He had become a wizard – and he could probably throw that confusion spell himself now.

A minute after the Elf’s hands were glowing greenish silver, two women and a man scurried out the back of the warehouse like scalded dogs. The thin, nondescript guardi’s orders were to follow any male. His assistant was to stay with whoever else came out. If he had to choose; ignore the small woman with short dark hair. She was new to town and had no friends. The man ran to ground in a fine home in the Castle Quarter overlooking the Cliffs. The woman returned to her bakery in New Port. Neither made any attempt to disguise their route. Why would they? They were regular citizens of Dol Amroth.

As the Lord slept, Nag Kath unwound to his full height and touched Mrs. Hürna’s shoulder on the couch. She was not that much the worse for wear. His plan was to pick their way back to the inn before dark. An attendant approached and said rooms had been prepared at the palace and would they like something to eat or drink?

It took another week to tie loose ends. The local woman hanged herself. One might have thought she had guardi help but she was powerful enough to kill or maim the first few men through the door. Nag Kath and Mrs Tichbolder had a through look through the baker’s shop and home. He learned even more about casting confusion spells. She pocketed a few items and the rest was burned. An employee at the bakery kept making tasty loaves sent to Erchirion's palace quarters daily as if nothing had happened, albeit with uncursed seasonings.

The man was Chief-of-Staff to Lord Runcïl, High Commissioner of the Magistrate, hero of the Ring War, a man with an ambitious young wife. Imrahil personally doubted he had the charisma to assume lordship but it had to happen soon or never. Runcïl was told to have an accident while guardi waited outside the door. His Chief-of-Staff was not given the option.

The small woman took more doing. Her hair was short because she wore wigs of different colors. The slight, quiet man, who was correctly never introduced, spoke with his very capable number two and they got a good description of her face. After the first sweep came-up empty, he worked with Nag Kath to draw it. It took a few tries as the man cudgeled his memory for specifics but it was her to the eyelash when it was done. Nag Kath made several copies to share with folk who help prevent crime.

Dierdreth was spotted trying to book passage up the Anduin. Back at her modest rooming house, guardi were instructed not to take her individually. Two of them were sent flying on approach. She was of the air or water source. The witch would have done the same for the next two when a Gondor game arrow hit her in the back of the head through a small window. She could not think or speak but it still took her three days to die. On the recommendation of Mrs. Hürna, the bodies of both women were burned and the ashes scattered.

When the embers cooled, she and Nag Kath had tea in the guest quarters of the palace. Other visitors ignored them. She mused, “I see it this way. The local woman had been in his head for a while but could not maintain a strong enough grip so they contracted with the gal in Osgiliath to boost the spell, maybe Ingralls, maybe this one decided she needed a promotion. This was no suspicious old Thain or his girl-child. Lord Erchirion was, and is again, a strong, capable man.”

She took a long pull now that the tea was the right temperature and continued, “You took quite a shock. Two of them, working together, in the same city.” She looked at the ceiling, “You know, back in the day, sorcerers of the enemy could speak to each other from afar. Those of us in the trade occasionally felt them.”

He modestly admitted, “I am learning. The last time I tried to use a healing spell. My wife took advantage of my suggestibility.” He smiled thinking of that. For the first time, the healer imagined that would have been pleasant. At bottom, Nag Kath was a nice creature. What kind she could not say, but like with Brenen, decent children can come from monsters. 

The Prince joined them as they were finishing and invited himself to sit by the low table. Mrs. Hürna had seen his son several times. Nag Kath stayed in the shadows to not be too much of a shock. Ercherion was himself again and now repairing the damage to his family. One daughter was still not sure that daddy was to be trusted. That might take time. The Prince asked, “What are your plans now that you have done this service for my people?”

Nag Kath said, “I thought to stay perhaps another week and see your beautiful city. Mrs. Hürna felt that was a good time to recover and perhaps book more comfortable accommodations back home.”

The Prince was expansive, “You will be declared a Knight and a Lady of Galador! I am sure we can arrange the proper ceremony in short order.”

“I cannot thank you enough My Lord. Would you think it insulting if I accepted this honor quietly? The King may need such service again.” 

The Prince put his forefinger alongside his nose. “What then is next?”

Nag Kath said thoughtfully, “I should visit the woman of Dale and let her know that her family has been avenged. I hope she is past that though. And then I need to get Mrs. Hürna home and fulfill our contract.”

The Prince was mildly embarrassed. He had not thought at all of compensation. Lordly folk, truly lordly folk, do such things for duty and honor. And he was lordly folk. Diplomatically he admitted, “Yes, I suppose there is that to consider. What would you ask for saving my family?”

Mrs. Hürna let Nag Kath speak since he was the paymaster, “Nothing for myself, Prince Imhrahil.” As she was on the verge of shouting; ‘Simpleton!' the changeling explained, “I am a Captain of Dale seconded to King Elessar. Now, Mrs. Hürna here is working for me as a contractor of light against the dark persons she foiled.”

Now she thought; oh, Nag Kath! Yes, never set the hook too soon. That gave the Prince room to maneuver. As if it was to be next out of his mouth, Lord Imrahil offered, “Please do not think this demeaning, Mrs. Hürna, but the Ladyship comes with a modest ten Florin prize and a home in the city. If you feel Dol Amroth would be served by your ‘light’, you would be honored.” Runcïl’s man’s house came to mind.

“That is most gracious, My Lord. Perhaps I can give you my decision in a few days after Nag Kath and I have concluded our business?” Of course she would take it, but, as Nag Kath just showed, you never set the hook too soon.

____________-------____________

He had a chore, and not an unpleasant one. Knocking on the door instantly brought the hefty housewoman along with a tall, handsome boy to investigate. Both were smiling so he did the same, “Good morning. I am Nag Kath and I bring tidings for the lady of the house.”

That was what salesmen said when they didn’t know who lived there. This one was prettier and better-dressed than most roving tinkers so she replied, “And who would that be, sir?”

“Her name was Durnalath in Dale, though I do not know her married name here.”

That earned him barely passing marks so she showed him into the main room and went to ask if her mistress was receiving. The boy kept smiling watch on the tall stranger. “Ma’am, there is a courtly visitor from Dale, a Mr. Kaff. He asked to see you.”

Durnalath had not seen anyone from home in quite some time. She was sitting at her mirror applying creams and brushing her hair when the maid knocked. She looked up at her dear servant and said, “All right. But he has to wait a bit. It takes longer to make me presentable these days.”

The maid knew it would be a long time before her mistress wasn’t presentable. The years had been very kind to the lady of Dale even though her son was now nearly a man. Ready to face the world, Durnalath slipped her arms through the sweater and greeted her guest. She did not remember him at all.

“Thank you for seeing me. May we speak privately?”

“These are my son and my dear maid. Anything you would tell me you can tell them. But please, come in and sit.” However much she wanted to listen, Agneath realized seated visitors need tea. It was always ready so she bustled back to the kitchen for a pot and mugs. 

Nag Kath sat on a rather low couch with his knees pointing up and waited to observe the forms for greeting Dalish visitors. After his tea was poured he said, “You may not remember me but I was the healer who excised the spell from you oh so many years ago in Dale.”

Durnalath stared at him hard but could not place the face. He continued, “A fellow healer completed the purge and you returned to your family, for which I am pleased. I am here because the story has finally ended. The old witch who confounded you and your father is dead, nearing three months ago in Osgiliath. Her apprentice died here this week.” 

“I do not know how you have tended these cares over the years but this may help. That is all I came to say other than to wish that your life has been fair and full.”

As he rose she said, “Please, kind sir, stay and finish your tea.”

It was still too hot to drink but it smelled delicious. Durnalath confirmed, “Yes, my life has been fair and full. Mr. Kaff, may I present my son Caladrion. He will be commissioned in the Pointe troop after militia training next fall.” Nag Kath turned and nodded his congratulations. In profile something floated to the surface, “Wait, I do remember ... it seems to me you moved in a blur, Mr. Kaff, and you have not changed a bit.”

“You might remember me from King Bard’s reception a few days before.”

“Yes, forgive me. I was not myself.” She was not embarrassed. Her son, maid and husband, now on duty, knew of her discomfiture and assigned her no blame. The conversation was boxed in a corner so Nag Kath changed the subject. “I have some liberty before leaving. Perhaps you can recommend places to visit in your fair city?”

Durnalath looked to her son who offered, “You might find White Town interesting. That is where the warships dock. Folk living there are the oldest lines in Dol Amroth, though I am afraid many of them only speak Sindarin.”

Nag Kath had a long pull of the perfect tea. “That is where we first came into the harbor?”

Caladrion told him, “Indeed, the berthage is shaped like a thumb. I would be glad to show you if you care for company.”

Nag Kath rose and reintroduced himself to get his name right when shaking hands. “I would enjoy that. Are you free tomorrow morning? I will be back at the Silver Flower later today, or I should be. I have a few things to attend first.” He then looked to the lady of Dale. “I confess; one reason I came was to see that the villains had not included you in their schemes. It seems so. Would you like to be sure?”

Durnalath did not see that coming but she was a grown woman and daughter of a fierce northern Thain. She smiled sweetly; glad of her strong son and loyal maid nearby. “Yes. What do you need?”

Nag Kath sat next to her and gently took her wrist. His hands glowed their usual silver and hers the mannish pale yellow. It was over in seconds. He smiled and said, “They are done and gone. Enjoy long life in good health.” He said goodbye and walked back to the castle to get his things and have what might be a last chat with Mrs. Hürna. 

She was sitting in the parlor of the palace guest wing with a cup of tea, now long cold. He sat down and observed, “Landed on your feet.”

“Aye. Life is strange.”

“Do you need me to see anyone or do anything when I get back?”

“Stop by the tent of Mrs. Probishar across from my shop. She has the key. It’s paid through June and she can have it till the lease is up. Send me a letter if anyone discovers how the old lady died.” Becoming much sterner, “Powers are seeking new hosts. I am stronger. You are much stronger. Those nitwits would not have been able to cast that spell twenty years ago.” More calmly, “Bring your pretty wife here to visit. This is a place for pretty folk.”

I’ll be at the inn for two more days. Send a message if we need to talk again. I am happy for you, Mrs. Hürna …”

“Tsita.”

“Tsita, it is. It looks like you have the town to yourself now.”

“Haa! I’m retiring. No more salving piles for me! I will devote myself to good causes, like myself.”

He kissed her on the forehead and collected his bag.

_____________-------____________

Young Caladrion was there at eight. Nag Kath was still sleeping a little after the intervention so he had the subaltern join him for breakfast. He was a well-read lad and proud of both Dalish and Belfalas blood. The lines were mixing lately. The Prince’s daughter was married to Éomer of Rohan. Their children would land on their feet too. Prince Faramir had taken a Rohirrim to wife. Ithilien could not hold many heirs. Goodness, his own step-daughter was a Princess and he was an orc! Vast swaths of the Morthond and Ringlo river basins were filling with farmers and settlers. It was only a matter of time before they married into the purple.

After the lad inhaled his eggs they walked a long half mile along the Quayside. There were three main harbors and dozens of coves on the protected side of the peninsula - many more directly across on the mainland. His ship docked at the Commercial Harbor claimed mostly by cargo vessels. Next was the Working Harbor which was largely fishing boats and shipwrights. Crossing an elegant bridge took them to the White Quay which was reserved for ships of war. Most of the fleet was on patrol but there were a few here for repairs or to let sailors start fights in less congenial areas of town. One ship was a large trebuchet platform. It was being scrapped for usable parts to build sleek attack vessels chasing recalcitrant Umbar pirates.

Landward was interesting too. Residences and shops were at a discreet remove from harbor business, fanning into the hills until they became too steep. These were the Prince’s closest views of his city. Peoples of Dol Amroth were comely in general but on this spit of beach they were, well, they looked a bit like Nag Kath. Tall with generally darker hair but strong faces and more than a few were beardless. Were these the mannish half-Elven? There might even be a few Elves remaining. Blonde Caladrion fit right in. Store fronts one row deep in from the docks often had signs in both the common tongue and Sindarin or Sindarin only.

Pointing to a jeweler’s store Nag Kath asked, “Caladrion, do you speak this language?”

“Enough to get by. Some here set great store in preserving old ways. They volunteer as loyal men for the militia but with their own Lieutenant.” 

Nag Kath could tell the youngster respected their views but though them quaint. He was right. This might be time to act like a real Elf. “Do they have a library or archives in this community?”

“Aye. That’s it right there.” He pointed to a very Elvish two-story that would be trellised in flowers come spring. Dol Amroth was temperate. It was cold in Gondor and freezing in Dale right now but they were strolling with light jackets. 

With a grin that would mortify any true Elf, Nag Kath said to his guide, “Do you want to have a little fun with the keepers of the flame?”

The young man started with a smile that became a grin and a nod.

Nag Kath instructed, “Let me do the talking. And brush your hair over your ears.” They walked up the steps into a spotless lobby of fine polished stone. A tall, scholarly fellow with lank hair and spectacles was reading a book at the central desk. Nag Kath approached and said, “Good morning sir. I would like to do brief research in your archives, if that is allowed.”

The fellow painstakingly bookmarked his place before looking up and sniffing, “The archives are for subscribers.”

“Yes, I am sure they are. But I have some haste.”

“I am sorry for your poor planning but rules are rules.”

With a face of consternation, Nag Kath turned to his young assistant so his pointed ear was exposed to the haughty librarian. In Sindarin he said softly, “Keeper Logass assured me there is still a copy left in Rivendell if these are unavailable. Perhaps Lord Tumlen can obtain it ere he sails. Can you get there in time?

Caladrion would describe this moment to his grandchildren and ad-libbed as well as a pea-under-the-walnut-shell huckster beside the mithril gate. In passable Sindarin he answered thoughtfully, “I think so, My Lord, unless the Swan Ship sets forth earlier than planned.”

“Well, that is always our risk.” Turning back to the overawed librarian, Nag Kath said, “I respect your requirements. Thank you for your time.” With that, the last of the Eldar dejectedly walked to the door.

The man rose and pleaded, “Sirs, I am granted certain discretion for unusual circumstances. Perhaps, well, can we keep this between us?”

Nag Kath appeared to consider that as if lives hung in the balance. Then in his Elf Lord voice he absolved the librarian, “Thank you. I am particularly interested in the spells of the White Council and healing humors of the Second Age.”

“Right this way.”

There wasn’t much new but one spell that made no sense in Imladris became much clearer. Nag Kath was tempted to ask if any remnants of the Nuralth were enshrined but the poor man was flummoxed already. The Elf probably could have had the Prince himself walk him down here to grant all privileges. This was better. There is a certain confidence in managing things yourself. The two blondes walked away until they were out of earshot before roaring in laughter.

“So you knew ma in Dale?”

“Didn’t know her. I met her at a party when I was investigating sorcery. She had been possessed by the dead witch on the orders of a villain on the council. Your uncle survived by the skin of his teeth.”

“Are you a real Elf?”

“Mostly, but I have always lived among men.” He grinned, “Elves would not have pulled a fast one on that poor scholar.” Slightly more seriously, “See here, I have to visit the Prince before I go. You seem a bright fellow, should I mention you?”

Caladrion did not seem awestruck by wizardry and Elves. “My father is a Captain in the Marines and has pulled a few strings already. I don’t suppose it would hurt if you can slip it in the way you got a look at those books.”

He was a sharp one. “I will see what I can do.” At the inn they shook hands and Nag Kath said, “Use my name if you ever get to Gondor or Dale.”

Caladrion nodded and waved goodbye.

_____________--------_____________

The trip back was much the same as coming except the ship did not have to go as far out to round Belfalas. The water was rougher. Nag Kath had gathered enough sea knowledge to help pull sail when they were broadside into the waves. The old salts were quietly impressed how fast he could get up and down the ratlines. This was the sort of ship that persons of quality traveled on in season. His bed was in what they called a stateroom and had a thick glass window. The only other passenger at this ill-advised time of year was spewing or in the privy most of the voyage so they only spoke in passing.

He stayed aboard the ferry past the Rammas dock so he could see how the aqueduct was progressing. It was about where it should be and folk were glad he was back but knew better than to ask where he had been. Nag Kath had a discreet question for the Osgiliath Gravediggers Guild. Theirs was not of the guilds that sponsored wagons in local parades but they took it seriously. Some did no digging at all. They prepared the dead for burial, arranged funerals and saw to memorial stelas with the masons. Folk with no family often sewed a fiver in a seam to afford the nearest digger and a pine box.

The Guild member to the healing district was Elber Ghoodis. Nag Kath approached him as he was loading coffins into his shed. “Excuse me sir. I was hoping you could help me find my aunt. Her heart was failing and I was away since summer. I fear the worst. Here is her picture.” It was drawn from memory this morning but any picture of a loved one was cherished in this land.

Elber did not fit the profile of the lean, grim undertaker – more like Manager Sepulvath with fewer teeth. He looked at the picture, careful not to defile it with his fingers and mumbled, “She looks dead already. Know where she lived?”

Nag Kath replied thoughtfully, “It was the building across from the feed store on Vu Addis. I don’t recall the number. 

“Hmmmm, yeah, couple months ago maybe. Pauper’s service. The city pays for those.”

“Oh, that’s terrible! She hadn’t done well but, oh, I do wish I was here.” Now for the reason he came; “Was it her heart?”

“Maybe, but her tongue was blue. Might have eaten something rotten. I’m sorry mister, she was pretty dry when they found her.”

Nag Kath handed him a fiver and said, “Where can I pay my respects?”

“Paupers take the barge to the quicklime pit outside the south wall. Not where I’d visit in those boots.”

He sent Mrs. Hurnä a letter via King’s Post.


	10. Fruition

**_Chapter 10_ **

**_Fruition_ **

Nag Kath commandeered a horse at his house and rode to Minas Tirith. Flor was radiant. Penula and Turnlie were just as he left them. It was too late in the day to visit the King so he took off his boots and let the females pamper him. Dinner was delicious. When they were curled on the couch, Flor said, “I am expecting.”

The changeling wasn’t sure what he was thinking before that but she had his attention now. He smiled and looked at her. She beamed. “I thought I might be just when you left but I am well along. If I count right; early July.”

“Are you well, my dear?”

“I was ill the first two months but that is past now. It must be very tame compared to your adventures.”

“Well, all is fine, but there was sorcery, intrigue, love, betrayal, all of the things that make good campfire stories. We saved the Prince’s fief and put a few old ghosts where they belong. Shouldn’t you be sleeping or knitting or something?”

She smiled sweetly, “I am fine, silly. And I am glad you are back.”

He took her upstairs and held her as she slept. This was unexpected, but certainly welcome. Talereth did not conceive but later had children. Eniece was already a mother. Nag Kath never told Florice that he could not have children; just that he hadn’t. She seemed so excited. Please, every Vala listening, let me be completely Elvish by now! 

The help were sworn to silence until the master returned. Within days, everyone in the neighborhood knew. Friends from the fifth planned a ritual where women would bring a gift and drink tea with cakes; very Hobbit-like. He settled back into his role as part-time architect and spent the first time in years sketching and painting. Nag Kath had enough of sorcery for a while. The King was at his horse farm when the ferry passed but was back now and replied to the Elf’s note to come up the following day.

“You have been away long my friend. Tell me of your time.”

Nag Kath said, “It was much like we reckoned, Sire. The local witch combined forces with one in Dol Amroth at the behest of a Lord looking to move up in the world. Lord Erchirion was saved, the villains killed and I am now a Knight of Galador. The healer I took with me stayed in high honor and your Kingship is praised. I brought this letter for you from Prince Imhrahil.” 

Aragorn looked at the seal but placed it on his side table. “You probably want to sleep for a week but I need to ask after the water.”

“All seems well. This will be the year we connect the parts”

“And you, Nag Kath? How is your lovely wife?”

“Ah, she is with child. Her count is not exact but we are thinking near the Feast of Tellarian.”

“May that be a blessed day.”

Flor was managing quite well. She would not ride but she walked the levels, only taking man-carts in poor weather. She and cook or Penula still shopped for the evening meal. Just when Nag Kath had reconciled himself to celibacy, Flor reminded him of all the ways they could enjoy themselves. She was a good ‘un. After Eniece, he was glad he could love again. He returned home as much as he could. Flor was big but kept walking in the neighborhood. Modern ladies did not always adhere to the convention of long confinement without exercise. She liked fresh air.

____________-------____________

Spring of year six called for decisions. At best speed, water was two building seasons away. But everyone could now see how this would work. The middle section was complete. Now they had to bring the water down from the collection pool and finish the arches into the city.

Teldamir called a meeting of the principal folk on the aqueduct. He had only done that twice before so this must be important. Long, straight stretches of the primary ditch needed curves. Splaying the supply lines from the Ferantie’s rock into the city and the bridge should start. It was time for the ironwork like grates, gates and valves. A large collection pond had been created at the right height. Now they had to reroute the stream from the waterfall. It could not have been done before now or it would soak everyone below. 

Nag Kath and Heinieth would take the source work. Heronburn had the supply to the city from Farantie’s rock. Heronburn’s new assistant would ride the line to fit the stretches. The city of West Osgiliath decided on the design that would raise the pipe like a draw bridge. Their folk would start that now. They were not as far along with preparing existing pipes but they had drinking water already. Teldamir had the approvals to make all the bits and pieces. Through all this, the Lords never once blinked about the cost.

The source work was good and bad. Rock on the ‘nose’ that had to be removed wasn’t as tough as it looked. An excellent Dwarf technique; workers crammed rye-seeds into cracks and soaked them. As they sprouted, the expansion forced boulders loose, large enough that no one was allowed directly underneath. With the path open it was time to punch the gate in the waterfall pool to pour down the cascade. Precision was difficult and rendered moot when a large piece of the side wall broke loose and fell into the upper collection pool. A man went over with it and broke his leg on the rocks ten feet below. He had to wait two hours under a freezing torrent until his fellows could shimmy down a rope and pull him to safety. Nag Kath kept the break from festering but the man’s aqueduct career was over. The good part was that the hole was close enough to where it should be that it ran into the pool. They just couldn’t stop it.

From the other end, three smaller supply aqueducts splayed away from Farantie’s Rock for the north, middle and southern holding tanks. After having done the big chute, the experienced crews made good time. Pillar men were always three or four arches ahead of the rocking teams. The Mûmikils were now exclusively used for dragging or carrying materials. Then they or teams of mules hauled rocks up on pulleys to the men on the scaffolds. 

On June 28th Flor went into labor. Nag Kath was there along with a midwife known to Mrs. Hürna. After four hours of pushing and panting, she presented her husband with a beautiful baby girl; ten fingers, ten toes. He held the child while the Miss Wengl cut the cord and then washed her before handing the babe to his tired wife. Was he truly free of Isengard? It seemed so. Women of Gondor, even ranking ones, seldom used nursemaids, preferring to suckle their own children. There were exceptions, but nursemaids were less common here than further south. Penula was as enthralled with the little Kath as anyone and would carry and change her any chance she got. 

After a week of being in the way, Nag Kath rode east again but returned once every week or two for a few days. The child was healthy and happy. Her da knew the best rash remedies. He would carry her around the house explaining the same things over and over in different languages. She cooed and squealed with his faces. 

By late fall they were in the final stretch. New foundries in North Ithilien could work through the winter. This year’s Syndolan Eve party was the same gay event as always but there were more water people in town. That meant more ale. Folk here and at parties in Osgiliath felt they were close to something that had not been done since middle-Third Age Kings. Another new thing was Nag Kath carried Helien as the early guests arrived and then took her to Mrs. Ceculdin’s house. The old woman thought parties were disgraceful, but she loved the little child. The King ordered torches lit every hundred feet along the aqueduct from the source to the city so all could see it. With the fireworks, it was quite a display. Now there was one more thing; a conversation with the Queen to respect.

This party had honored guests. Prince Faramir and Lady Éowyn were in the city for discussions with the King. Always invited as a matter of form, they surprised all arriving in the later shift. Enough people recognized him that everyone knew in time to bow. She was as elegant as ever. He wore fine civilian clothes rather than his usual light armor. Even at 61, the Prince’s Dúnedain blood kept him looking no more than middle-aged and always fit. Lady Eowyn spent most of her time talking with Flor who she had met before and liked. The Prince wandered around the home with Nag Kath who made multiple introductions to folk who suddenly forgot how to speak. 

The Elf spotted his man. Timalen and Marie were nursing cups of wine wondering how obvious they should be in this esteemed company. Nag Kath motioned them over. “My Lord, these are my oldest friends, Timalen and Marie Brushta. Tim and Marie, meet Prince Faramir. Tim, I was just about to tell the Prince of your inspired idea to build sculpture and relief carvings on the new water structures … to give them the dignity and beauty of works by his honored forebearers. Do you still have the sketches?”

Quastille taught Tim how to run with a lead, “Certainly. We need to make sure the measurements came in as planned, but they should be ready to present within the month.”

Prince Faramir was enthused. “Splendid! Nag Kath, you have been holding out on me.”

“Just saving the best for last, My Lord. When we started, I spoke to the Lady Arwen about using Elvish elements.” Oh how he hated that term. “Now we have a Dwarvish start and an Elvish middle. I say; let us honor the people of Gondor at the end!”

Prince Faramir would speak with the King the very next morning! Nag Kath gave Tim a wink. Marie did not faint. It was beneath them, of course, but the project needed a little style. And it would give Nag and Tim something to do over the winter.

__________------__________

Spring brought a flurry of activity. The original Mûmikils worked near Osgiliath. The new ones had Gimli’s Cascade. The disease season was mild. All the middle sections were connected. Osgiliath was ready first. The headwater ramp took until July. All this time, Timalen had been making the fountains, tanks and lines look nice. Masons placed the blocks and roughed the shapes. Then Tim, his fellow sculptors of Minas Tirith, Osgiliath and a very talented man from Dol Amroth would complete the faces and hands. Both the King and Prince were featured prominently. 

As Gimli said; now it had to work. The first test was the long one from the start to the rock. There were leaks, two of them serious. It took a week to drain the system and make repairs. Then they flooded the system again and filled the holding pool on Ferantie’s rock. It worked. Manager Sepulvath kept everyone patient but they secretly ran a test stream into the northernmost city drop-tank before getting the dignitaries scheduled. That worked too, with a few leaks of its own. 

After Sepulvath reported he had flow, it was time to make the announcement. The King let Prince Faramir preside over the opening ceremony. This was his fief. Another midnight test was made to the middle line which would include the bridge when the men of the west side had completed their work. That went better than the first, but those were the newest pipes.

The big day came. The rock tank was near full. No one knew how much was enough so they would have to raise those gates gradually. The ceremony was organized around the middle-line main fountain. The Prince and Éowyn were there along with anyone who was anyone in Ithilien and a sizeable contingent from across the river. Mayor Yurbanad put the audience to sleep with his oratory before mercifully ringing a small bell. A fellow on the roof of a tall building waved a flag and the men at the middle tank raised the gate. 

It took forever. People were torn between waiting in silence for the water or listening to the mayor again. The central fountain started to sputter air and then gushed, so much that it soaked the first three rows of dignitaries. The flag man signaled to drop the gate a little. 

Osgiliath had fresh water. 

Nag Kath was watching from the wings. He was still working. But he was very proud. Gandalf said to heal. Mrs. Skilleth said the same. There would always be fevers in the low ground but not because people had to drink fouled water. Prince Faramir gave a very short, moving speech and was handed the first taste; scooped from the central fountain in one of hundreds of commerative cups fired for the occasion. After his sip, he motioned Nag Kath to come over and share. It was the sweetest water they ever had.

There was still a lot of work left to do but it was now in the hands men with on-going positions. They had to check the line constantly, repairing leaks and removing debris. Old underground pipes not used to higher pressure leaked too. West Osgiliath had plenty of problems with the pipe to their home but they eventually got that working. One of the nicest things was that the Haradrim who had toiled so long and hard were accorded a farewell of their own. Suspected and insulted on arrival, they went home as proud men of Middle-Earth. There would be plenty of private work for those magnificent beasts too. 

There were parties and fetes and any number of events to welcome the water. Nag Kath avoided most of them. He thought he worked best behind the scenes. He also thought people would have less confidence in the water if the last dark servant was the one who pronounced it healthy. Some of that was modesty since he was well past being thought an orc. Timalen was in high demand. If mere tradesmen of Osgiliath deserved fine sculpture, the higher orders of the White City deserved no less! It was time to replace or re-cut all those old Numenoreans with broken noses.

_______________--------_______________

Late fall was lovely in Minas Tirith. Nag Kath and Flor were out and about more often. A favorite restaurant was on the fifth right by the prow. Service was good and they could keep the meat from the rest. On their way inside Nag Kath noticed a blonde man staring at them. Florice was a beautiful woman so it signified nothing.

During the meal, a lout shouted drunkenly from the bar, “The child is mine! She bore my child!”

Nag Kath looked over his shoulder to see what the fuss was about. It was the man who stared at them, staring at them again. The Elf was about to throw him through the window when Flor rose and shouted back, “Go away!”

He gave as good as he got and cried, “Florice, that is my child. I have my rights!”

Nag Kath stood-up but Flor jumped in front of him and repeated, “You go away!” Diners between them sensibly made for the far walls.

The man got maudlin and whimpered, “You belong to me. That is our baby.” 

Flor held her ground but made a slip in the heat of the exchange, “Irvien, go home, you are not welcome.”

Alcohol gave him courage and he sneered at Nag Kath, “She said you could not father a babe! Her first husband likes sailors. What about you?! A real man would slay the brat! But you are no man.”

Nag Kath raised his left hand and flexed his fingers. A moment later, the blonde man flew across the room sending tables and chairs skidding in all directions. Nag Kath held him by the throat watching him feebly kick and foul himself as the air left his body. The Elf pulled him face to face and said softly, “If you ever threaten my family again, I can crush your windpipe from anywhere on earth.” Then he dropped the dougsh and looked around the room. Flor was gone. She was running back to the house but did not have the wind or shoes to make good time. She also made a wrong turn in the darkness. When she got home, the door was locked.

A husband could kill a child born of adultery. It was illegal, but men did it with impunity. Flor pounded on the door crying, “Nag Kath, please do not harm her! She is just a baby!” She rattled the door latch but it held firm so she kicked it and screamed, “Please, please do not hurt her.” When no one came, she collapsed at the threshold and cried the cry of the damned. It had all failed. There would be nothing left. She did not even notice the cold. In abject misery she leaned against the door sobbing for her dear child and the hurt she had caused.

Flor almost fell inside when Penula opened the door. She scrambled to her feet and ran inside to see Nag Kath holding Helien the way he always did. The child seemed delighted that da was home to hear her gurgling baby laughs. The changeling nodded to the Lady’s Maid who took Flor’s coat and disappeared in the kitchen.

Florice regained some composure but said through tears, “Nag Kath, please, please do not hurt her. It is not her fault.” Her lip was bleeding from biting it so hard outside pounding on the door. “That man …” She was breathing too hard to finish. “That man …”

“… is Helien’s father, yes?”

She nodded in shame but was more concerned for her child. “I did not want you to find out, not this way. You deserved better than this. When did you know?”

“I’ve always known.”

Of all the infuriating Elves! She searched for something to say when he added, “You wanted a child. I could not give you one. Your last husband could not give you one. So you found a way. See, here is my color.” The finger little Helien was clutching glowed silver. “And here is hers.” The baby’s little hand shone pale yellow. She thought it such fun and waved her arm up and down.

He said, “I’m going to get some tea. Do you want a mug?” He made for the kitchen.

She nodded with her mouth open and followed him as far as the living room. Penula was standing just inside the kitchen with Turnlie. Both were crying and now ashamed that their master would see them in such a state. He told them, “Do not worry. Turnlie, could you find us some tea?” 

Flor collapsed on the sofa. In her world, she could not imagine any man being publicly humiliated as a cuckold without violence or retribution. She would have to leave. He had every right to cast her out and keep the baby. She still had some of the money he gave her but it would not last long. Maybe her sister would take her in.

Her husband handed her the baby who instantly wanted to suckle. She opened her blouse. Nag Kath sat next to her as Turnlie placed the tea mugs on the low table and left. They listened to Helien making little smacking sounds. Flor said in utter despair, “Nag, thank you for not hurting her.”

“Flor, this is our child. She is as close as I will ever get to a child. You had the courage to create her and nurture her because you wanted her so much. I will always love her. And I will always love you. Can that be enough?”

She had to let that sink through the numbness. Could it be enough? She knew his emotions were nothing like the men of the world, but that much? He took a sip of the tea and wiggled a finger at Helien who had come up for air. “See, mama’s not crying anymore.”

The next couple days Flor walked on eggshells. Something must go wrong. Her mind was made. Nag Kath sat at the dining table working on ramps or arches or some such thing as if nothing had happened. They slept in the same bed. He embraced her but did not go further. She wanted him desperately but dared not. Would he ever touch her again? 

On the third night Flor could not take the suspense and longing. She reached out to him. He had been waiting. Near dawn she asked meekly, “Nag, can you ever forgive me?”

“Hmmmm?”

“Can you forgive me?”

He became very grave, “Do you remember when the orcs attacked?”

That was not where this conversation was supposed to go, “A little. I was six.”

“While the battle raged I was in a cell on the second level. Every other orc in the army of Sauron was destroyed except me, every single one. By sorcery, I became what I am. When I was sent to my birthplace for judgment, I traveled with men my orcs had maimed and crippled, murdered their friends and families. I washed them when they could not help themselves. I fed them. I protected them with my bare hands because that was all I had. 

“Upon reaching their home, a great lord of Rohan gave me his sword. I had served his people. He forgave me. And every day, I am alive because someone has forgiven me for being one of the greatest monsters the world has ever known. Powers great and small have decided there should only be one of me. So when you ask if I can forgive you for bringing a precious little life into the world, I already have. I could not exist without forgiveness.”

Flor sobbed. Despite everything, Nag still seemed a boy. She never understood he could only be the way he was to escape unimaginable pain. And he loved her. And he forgave her. It was a good kind of crying until he completely ruined the mood by propping up on his elbow and asking, “You don’t plan to have more, do you?”

When Flor finally stopped laughing, she slept.


	11. What Could Not Be

**_Chapter 11_ **

**_What Could Not Be_ **

The next morning he needed to make a short trip over the river. Flor kissed him after he saddled Regalid and collected his bag. Then she started crying. Last night seemed to have healed the pain and, as usual, he wondered why women cried when they were glad. He kissed her back as she said, “I will miss you, my dear.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t be but a few days.”

Climbing aboard, he left to visit Osgiliath and inspect the south line. There were cracks in a number of the cover tiles so someone else might have to replace all of them. He also had some unfinished business with the witches here and then had to reclaim his poor house after seven years of unwashed guests. The guests were still there.

Back three evenings later, the home felt empty. Turnlie scurried out of the kitchen and knelt before him in tears, “I’m sorry, Mr. Kath. I din’t know.”

“What is it Turnlie?

“The missus and Pen, they’re gone. Took the babe too.”

Nag Kath scanned the room. He had not admitted it to himself, or placed the chances slim, that Flor might leave. After the first flush of emotion, he calmed and said softly to Turnlie, “Come sit over here and tell me what happened.”

She never made eye contact as she sat on the couch. He took the chair beside. The poor woman’s lip would not stop trembling but she managed to say, “You’se away. Pen told me to go to the stationers north o’ the prow on the third, you’se getting an important box, she said. Said to stay there all day if I had to. So I did. Nothing came so I come home when the shop closed and they’s gone!

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Mr. Kath!”

“Any idea where they went, Turnlie?”

“No sir. But they’s bags musta been packed cause they took their things and little Helien’s too.” She sobbed and blew her nose on a handkerchief hidden in her sleeve before adding, “Musta had a wagon or man-cart. I asked Loomus out front but it wasn’t his.”

Nag Kath had much to do. First was to calm his cook. “You are in no trouble, dear Turnlie. Now, do you think you could find us a nice mug of tea?”

As the shadows grew long, Nag Kath walked down to the man-cart guild office on the first level. As usual, the place was a madhouse of men trying to squeeze one more trip out of their day. He stepped inside and told someone who looked like he worked there that he needed to see Mr. Sandrous, right now. The fellow looked up at the towering Lord and said, “This way.”

Sandrous was in the back talking to a wheel-wright when his junior man walked up and nodded towards Nag Kath. He had never met the Elf but there could be no doubt this was the creature of local legend. He shook his hand and invited him into the yard for privacy, “What can I do for you, sir?”

“An attractive blonde woman, a toddler and a lady’s maid left the fourth, south of the prow on Wednesday. It would have taken at least two carts to move their things. I need to talk with whoever pulled them. The pullers are in no trouble.” Nag Kath handed Sandrous a nipper and a card. “There’s more for the men. We keep this quiet.”

That was an exorbitant bribe. And if the reputation of the Elf was half true, much better than being flung across a room and choked. Sandrous, a hard man in a hard business, said levelly, “If they left in a man-cart, I’ll find out. If not, I have a few friends drives pony wagons on the switchbacks. Private carts; can’t help ya.”

The next morning brought a knock. Turnlie answered it with Nag Kath standing behind her. Without preamble, a grizzled fellow in woolens said, “Sandrous told me you wanted a word.”

“Come in. What’s your name?”

“Willigs, sir.” Man-carter Willigs was seldom invited inside but he respectfully took off his cap as he looked about the room. Nag Kath pointed to a chair and they both sat down. A wink to Turnlie brought tea. The Elf said, “A tall blonde woman with a child and her maid left here three days ago, maybe from this house. What do you know about that?”

“It was this house. My son and I carried their bags and the old woman. Then I came back for the mother and child and a few other things.”

The Elf asked, “Where did you take them?”

“Just off the gate where the wagons for the Rammas dock load.”

Nag Kath followed his answer with, “Was there anyone with them?”

“No sir, not that I saw. But I’ll tell you this for nothing; there were more bags with theirs when I took the lady and babe down. Good quality. I see a lot of bags in my trade.”

Nag Kath was impressed. Residents of Minas Tirith take lowly carters for granted but they make a good living if they have the right territory. The Guild sees to interlopers. The man did not slurp his tea. “What time of day was that?”

“Near to the noon-bell by the second trip, time enough to catch the Lodestar or the Ithil Breeze downriver. Nothing rowing up that time of day.”

Nag Kath took a moment and then asked, “You seem a knowledgeable fellow. Well-dressed ladies, probably with a gentleman, which of those boats would they take?”

“Ithil Breeze. The Loadstar is a, well, not the cleanest of vessels, sir.”

“When does she put in again?”

The carter thought first and then said, “If they make for Pelargir, two weeks. Reckon two days back for every day down as to gauge the distance.”

Nag Kath walked to the dining table and got his sketch pad. Wordlessly, he sat back down and doodled for a few minutes. Willigs sat patiently. This would be worth his time. The Elf handed him the paper with quick sketches of Flor, Penula and what he remembered of the man he throttled in the restaurant saying, “When the master of that boat returns, ask what he knows.” With that he handed Willigs five silvers and laid his finger along his nose. Willigs slipped the coins into his vest pocket without biting them.

______________--------_____________

He was torn. His woman had fled with his child down the river, probably with the natural father of Helien. Unlike most men, Nag Kath did not think they were his property. To follow them and make an impassioned plea or take one or both by force would only make things worse. 

Things could not be as they had been. Flor would guard their baby zealously. If it was the same man at the bar; he would cause them grief. Nag Kath guessed he probably had a little money. Did she love him or was he just for stud? Nag Kath wished he didn’t care. Then there was what he would do. The water project was in capable hands. Winter was coming. He did not have a lot on his plate, and he needed advice.

“Hullo, Mrs. Tippi. I was hoping Tal might be home.”

“Oh hello, Mr. Kath. Come in. Let me see if she is receiving.”

The cheerful Mrs. Tippi disappeared down a hall and emerged with Talereth a minute later. Tal held her hands out to be kissed and said, “Sit down.” Tea would be here shortly. The woman would be in her early fifties now. She had broadened a bit and there was gray in her hair but the flow of her movement told of fires still burning. Tal sat herself and asked, “Now what brings you out at such an unsocial hour of the day? No, first, thank you for getting Ectilla on the sculpting crew. Women usually aren’t included in that sort of work. Timalen helped her a great deal.”

“I am glad. And she did a good job. Hopefully her stock has risen among cultured eyes in Minas Tirith.” He tried the tea but it was too hot. “Tal, I need to talk about Flor. She …”

Tal interrupted, “Oh, poor dear. She has not been herself lately. Should I have a word with her?” Nag Kath said nothing. He did not have a face that was easy to read but she divined this was something else, something worse.

“She left, took Helien and Pen with her, probably with the girl’s father. It seems they took a ferry down the river when I was in the east.”

Tal closed her eyes letting let her friend's pain wash over her. Sitting with her was one of the fairest people she ever met. Floating away was a dear woman who finally had what she wanted and it wasn’t enough, or it was too much. If she knew her Elf, he was here for counsel, not sympathy.

“I wondered about the babe.”

“It was not meant to be. One Orc Six in the world is too many by some counts. I told her I was glad she had done so. I meant it, but how could she ever believe me?”

“Flor is a very traditional woman who was groomed into her first marriage. It was almost perfect. She loved you but you are no society husband.” Despite the somber mood, she smiled. Everyone loved that about Tal. “Did you really plow the dougsh through all the furniture?”

“Fraid so. That’s a new spell. I tried to squeeze his throat where he stood rather than drag him over and stink-up the restaurant.” He smiled too, “I have to work on that one.”

In sympathy she said, “I am sorry for both of you, Nag Kath. Will you seek her?”

He shook his head, “Maybe we were both trying too hard for something so simple. I will miss Helien terribly. I liked being a father.”

She asked softly, “Will you stay, Nag Kath?”

“Through the winter. Then I will go downriver to see my daughter. After that, Dale, I think. I gave myself a generation of men to learn my spirit. Now, I will learn why I am here.”

She willed a brave smile, “Then I will see you many times before you go. Please remember there are people who love you everywhere you have been. Do not forsake us.”

He kissed her forehead and walked home.

______________-------______________

Physical activity always helped Nag Kath calm his mind, and it needed much calming. He rode Regalid on the plain, shot arrows, practiced sword-play with heavy wood staves to build his control. Painting would have to wait for the right muse. 

He would attend to business as well. Nag Kath dropped in on Broughtur and Sylveth Mülto. The landlord seemed to know his trade so the Elf proposed a partnership. He would put-up a hundred Florin to purchase buildings for Kathen Properties through the bank and they could keep half the rent for managing them. That was an astonishing deal for Mülto who readily agreed. 

Nag Kath made the same offer to Tumlen who had parlayed his salary and connections into a modest operation of his own. Now a man of 22, he was ready and capable. That included his house in Osgiliath. There was even a pretty woman interested in the short, blue-eyed businessman. In this case, the changeling wondered about his usual lifespan and had the property put in a trust entailed to charity a hundred years hence if he never claimed it. That way if he disappeared for decades at a time it would not be given to heirs. There was plenty for them to share.

Against the possibility that Flor and Helien went upstream, he gave Tumlen a sketch of Flor and Penula to remind him what they looked like. Since he was here, Nag Kath took advantage of fair weather to ride out to the compound. Rotating crews of four men stayed to inspect the works from the Vale four miles west. Similar teams now stayed at the work camps. Now that the first leaks were fixed, the design worked well.

He climbed up to the waterfall and looked back at Osgiliath. The aqueduct and the road next to it was a scar across the landscape, no doubt about that. But it brought health. Such was the nature of man; to build and serve their hard lives. Fortunately, no sentient trees were cut. Perhaps Minas Ithil would be rebuilt; though there would have to be a reason to go into Mordor. That might be lifetimes in coming.

Nag Kath did not have a Syndolan party this year. He could not face starting every conversation explaining Flor’s absence, or skirting the subject with people who already knew. One of the latter was King Elessar who invited him up the hill that night.

“Good evening, Sire, My Lady.”

Aragorn said, “Happy Syndolan Eve, Nag Kath. Thank you for coming.”

“Quite a view for the fireworks.”

Queen Arwen responded, “Those are my favorites too. How does it feel to be the hero of water, Nag Kath?”

“I am both proud and tired. I think the real test will be in spring when folk aren’t subject to pestilence.”

The King asked, “What is next for you then?”

“Perhaps Pelargir for a spell. Then I am long overdue to see my step-children in Dale. We have exchanged letters all the while but that is not the same as hugging them. One of my grandchildren is in her twenties now! I even have a great grandchild. They call me uncle to save confusion. Come April, I will ride north for a time.”

Aragorn said, “Let us talk before you go. I am overdue to visit the north as well.” The King knew Nag Kath would keep that to himself. Yes, he had much to do in Arnor. “We will visit the Hobbits.”

The royals and their guests watched a skilled rocketeer fire-off an assortment of sparklers and exploding missiles. As the man was cleaning-up, a candle lit over Nag Kath’s head. 

Was Gandalf’s box of powders still in Orthanc?

_______________--------______________

By late March Tumlen had purchased three buildings. A friend told him about a good buy in the south of the city so he wandered down for a look. It wasn’t what they wanted. Leaving the lobby he saw the older woman of the picture Nag Kath pinned to the office wall. She was shopping on Vue Langaroth, looking up occasionally to see if anyone was watching her. Tum climbed on his horse and rode hard to the fourth level of Minas Tirith.

“It was her, or close enough I thought you should see for yourself.”

Nag Kath had his full attention. “Good man, Tum. Did you see where she went?”

“I followed her half a block to the back entrance of the Numenorean. Then I came straight here.”

Nag Kath stood up and asked, “Do you need a fresh horse.”

“Nay, I pinched one of the Lossarnach mounts from the stable. She’ll be fine on the way back.”

They rode at a modest speed back across the bridge and stopped a block north of the inn. The Numenorean was the nicest place on the southeast side of Osgiliath and catered to elite merchant river traffic on the Great River. Tumlen walked in the kitchen door carrying a box and said in a pleasing tone to the oldest woman in the room, “Excuse me, I must have just missed my client’s lady’s maid, thought she might have come through here.”

He was well dressed and spoke politely so the cook said, “Lots of thems round here, dear. What does she look like?”

He couldn’t show them the picture without explaining why he had it, but he described her nearly to the mole on the side of her neck. One of the maids who took food upstairs walked behind the cook and said, “She’s with a couple got here yesterday. Took the front corner suite on the second. I’m going up there shortly. Want I should get her?”

Tumlen whispered, “Better not, I should have been here by noon. I’ll just make my delivery and all’s well, eh?” He gave each of them a fiver and laid his finger alongside his nose.

Walking through to the lobby, he waited until the desk clerk turned to help a guest and disappeared up the stairs. The serving woman cracked the door open. Tumlen smiled and said, “Delivery from Chanderie and Family. Where would you like this?”

Without a word she opened the door and pointed to a table where Tumlen could put the shirt Nag Kath bought a few minutes before. He asked her, “Can the mister sign for this? They like me to show it was delivered proper.”

“He’s out. And you should know to use the delivery door.”

“Sorry ma’am. I’m filling-in for the regular man.” A bit sheepishly he added, “Can you show me the best way to leave?” 

Back in the alley Tum summarized, “Nag, she’s serving a couple in room 210, that’s a suite on the northwest corner. Go through the kitchen to the right and then the stairway to the service doors of that row. No numbers. I dropped a piece of paper by the threshold. Her employers are out just now." He added with a smile, “Hope his shirt fits.”

It was getting dark and Penula was about to light the lamps in the main room when her match went out. Reaching for another in her apron she heard, “Hullo, Pen.”

“Huhhhh?!”

Coming from a chair in the dark corner, “It has been a while.”

“Nag Kath?”

“Why did you come back?”

She said tentatively, “Woman’s gotta work.”

“You had a job.”

When she said nothing he asked, “Where’s Helien?”

Penula knew she was trapped. She aided the wife of her employer in fleeing him and taking his child. That was not completely accurate but he could have her caned to within an inch of her life. A tear rolled down her hardened face, “The child is dead.”

He said nothing. She did not see him hang his head between his knees. Anything to fill the ghastly silence, Pen continued, “Fever got her in Pelargir a month after we docked.”

He implored, “Why, Pen?”

“Irvien convinced her that as the child’s true father, Flor must go away with him to his people’s home, Dystran, they are. I had the choice of going with her or telling you.”

“Flor had a home.”

The woman was angry in her grief. She loved Helien as much as anyone alive. “Best home she ever had! But you scared her, Mr. Kath. Your magic and high Lords and strange ways! She was never meant for that!” She gathered herself, “Flor is a simple girl and she made the choice that tore the heart from her. A month after that, Irvien picked a fight with a deckhand who kept a knife in his boot. Slit him stem to stern. I was cut adrift and landed with the Belangors. He sold iron bits to your water crew." In a smaller voice, “You gonna kill me, Mr. Kath?”

“No.”

“Want to know where Flor is?”

“No.”

She heard the door shut. Wiping tears with her apron, Pen lit the lamps.

_______________--------______________

Nag Kath had had enough emotional education. He could have done without fury. An enraged wizard, even a weak one, is a dangerous creature. He gripped his hand until the knuckles were white; knowing his threat against the blonde man was empty even when the dougsh was alive. That did not ease the anger. Deeper than deep down, he had been a creature capable of great rage – more than capable, born to it. Nag Kath understood now that the orc had been purged but the memory remained. He kept it barely covered. His greatest anger since Orthanc reminded him what he was.

Halfway to Minas Tirith fury became sadness. Flor was gone. Her life was ruined. He would not kill her, but forgiveness would have to wait. Pen did what she was told, which is what servants do. Poor Helien. He might have saved her with a touch of his hand. He dismounted, sat in the dirt and cried. Passersby left him alone. Before he noticed, Regalid nuzzled him in the blackness. 

For uncounted times, Nag Kath considered the limitations of healing. One could only cure curable diseases. The patient had to be fundamentally healthy with a wound or a malady that shouldn’t be there like a fever or an infection. Frodo’s stabbing was a famous case. He was a fit fellow and his body could fight with extra help.

You could not heal someone who would eventually die of the affliction. Eniece always came to mind. When the wasting started, her body turned against itself. He could help her pain but had to watch her suffer. That was why the women who healed had to be so careful. If they misdiagnosed an illness and absorbed a killing disease, they would not catch it, but it could sap their life strength.

Helien could have been saved. He knew it in his soul.

Nag Kath rode Regalid at a walk the rest of the way home getting special dispensation from the gate guards. They knew who he was and cheered him. Turnlie was not concerned even though he had not said he was leaving. He was here when he wanted. In cold months she usually left soup on the stove.

He ate a little waybread in silence. Nag Kath decided he would only tell Tal what he found. Everyone else could think what they wanted. Tomorrow morning, he would prepare to leave. That started at the top of the hill. Nag Kath had never sought an audience with the King. The first two visits he was a prisoner. The next two dozen were at Aragorn’s pleasure. He walked to the sentry on a far door from the petitioners who conveyed the message. It was still a two hour wait but an attendant collected him and showed him to the King’s study.

“Good morning, Nag Kath.” 

“It is a pretty day, My Lord.”

“What can I do for you?”

“I have decided to accept your offer to travel north if that is still your purpose. I just need to know when we leave to put my affairs in order. It will likely be some time before I return.”

“Two weeks from tomorrow. Best keep that under your hat.”

“Thank you, Sire. I will see you then.”

_______________-------_______________

Unlike Dale, he would say some proper goodbyes here. There was no escaping that he must always leave people behind. The tyranny of distance or time would win. That did not make it any easier.

Amiedes Tallazh was now eighty six. He had slowed quite a bit in the eight years since they renewed their acquaintance but he walked on his own power and still had youth in his eyes. They spoke for an hour over the fine Khandian tea. 

One of his hardest partings was with Regalid. The horse was now sixteen and ready for a softer life than racing here and there. One of Captain Burno’s militiamen had just lost his older horse to torsion. He would appreciate an experienced charger. Nag Kath scratched Regalid’s ear while he nibbled carrots from his new owner. The day before he brought his favorite of the Lossarnach station mounts from Osgiliath. His name was Charlo and Charlo loved to run. The same size as Regalid, the saddle and tack fit him fine. Like all Elves, Nag Kath had never used mouth-bits. Elf and horse spent some time every day learning the subtleties of side-pull reins. 

Tim and Marie knew this was coming. They all truly believed they would see each other again. Nag Kath planned to come back and he was very hard to kill. When he was here, they would talk old times. He organized a dinner for the water crew. A table for twelve was not nearly enough so they commandeered a corner of the restaurant. He told everyone how proud he was of them, that their children’s children would praise the work they did. They were the Numenoreans reborn and they should always hold their heads high.

The next goodbye would be the hardest. Ectillion had just retired and was much at home. Tal smiled sweetly at him and he and Mrs. Tippi both remembered chores they had to do elsewhere.

She had intended to maintain her composure but the tears came. “Oh Nag, I hate this. Parting from you the first time nearly killed me. Now you are going again. You are always the same. It makes me feel young. You have been good luck for me.”

“I have been very lucky too. When I return, we will relive the Revanthars all over again.”

Her face was stained by tears but she still managed her clever smile, “I’m sorry about Flor and the baby. If they were here, you would stay.”

After seeing his friend so sad, Nag Kath debated if he should tell her. She deserved the truth. “Tal, that can’t happen. Helien died, right after they left. A fever took her. Her father walked into a knife within a month. If Flor is still alive, she’s somewhere on the river, all alone or worse. I left an annuity at the bank if she ever comes back as long as someone tells her to claim it. I did that the same day I filed for a divorce. I pulled a few strings to get it through in a week. We both need to be free for what lies ahead.

“Be kind to her, Tal. She will need that.”

Talereth was in shock. She could not cry. Her two friends; come to this. He left half an hour later after restoring some of her good humor. Yes, they would relive the last charge yet again.

There was one last piece of business. Turnlie could cry as well as anyone. She knew this was coming too but had the added stress of not knowing what would happen to her. He spoke to her very calmly, “Turn, I need you to care for my home while I am away. That could be a long time. An account has been opened at the bank to pay all of the bills and taxes and repairs to keep the place in good shape. Mr. Mülto will manage that for you and your salary. You can live here as long as you want and you can have other people live here with you. Just leave downstairs alone for when I come back. I’ll put a few boxes down there before I go.”

She kept crying but this wasn’t so bad. It got better. He handed her a small leather purse and continued, “Here are five Florin. That is for you. I suggest you keep that private so no one takes advantage. Take care of the place and remember our wonderful Syndolan parties! I am going to leave in two days. In that bag are veries and some gonboral leaves. I’d like you to make a big batch of Lembas bread before then. You’re going to be just fine.”

She was now a secure woman but still blubbering. “Mr. Kath, what if Mrs. Kath comes back?”

“Be very kind to her.”


	12. Fellowship

**_Chapter 12_ **

**_Fellowship_ **

**This section of the book is supported by the maps; Middle-earth Large, and Arnor along with the maps of the first chapters.<https://imgur.com/gallery/jHPlDU8>**

Nag Kath traveled light. He was fully armed with his sword and bow but carried few clothes, some gold, Lembas and rain-gear. A new art tube replaced the one from Quastille. He was never armored. That would not seem like a good idea in a rain of arrows but he did not need it in hand-to-hand combat.

On the appointed day he waited at the switchback on the fourth until the royal train arrived. Lord Aragorn’s escort was smaller than his first visit as King. There were a dozen riders accompanying him from the seventh and they would be met by a two dozen more on the first plus animals carrying tents, provisions and other royal essentials. Not all were soldiers. Vundar of the Purse was along and Nag Kath knew him well. There were others skilled in lore or diplomacy. A scribe with experience in treaties was in the saddle along with cooks, an armorer and the King’s travel handman. Nag Kath fell in with the first body after letting the vans pass.

King Elessar moved fast. This was a chance for younger members of the court to shine but they had better keep up. He did not push the horses. There was breakfast and dinner with occasional breaks along the way for relief or fresh water. Often the King would chat briefly with his people watching in awe from the side of the road. Occasionally Nag Kath spoke with the Lord but mostly he stayed to the escort. All of them carried swords but alternated with lance and bow. The royal progress arrived in Edoras seven days later, the same time it took Nag Kath riding alone.

The King and his advisors would stay with King Éomer for three days. Everyone else slept in the tents. As it happened, Nag Kath had the offer of a bed in a more modest part of town. Dornlas was out on an errand but Annlie invited him inside for tea as an old friend. Tomorrow night there was to be a feast for the entire company but he was theirs tonight and two days hence. One of their twins married two years ago. The other still lived here but was serious about Fellingas, a nice young officer in the King's Guard. She worked in a store run by one of her parent’s lessees. 

Dornlas walked in after admiring the steed tied to the rail. Just as the last time, he gave the Elf a crushing hug and insisted on something stronger than tea. That was mostly for show since neither of them drank much. When Torenne got home after work, the women saw to a splendid fish dinner with greens and fresh loaves. Nag Kath thought very fondly of being able to see folk who were important in his life, as he was in theirs. He did not age in body but his mind had fully matured. He felt himself of an age with Dornlas and all the friends he made over the years. After the last year in Minas Tirith, he needed friends.

Nothing in Edoras every worked quite as planned. In the morning he and Dornlas were drinking tea on the porch in their stocking feet when a familiar Lieutenant rode down and dismounted. Dornlas called out, “Top of the mornin’ Fellingas. You’re up with the chickens.”

“With royal visitors we are at beck and call, Dornlas.”

Torenne wandered out on the porch at the commotion and smiled at the young officer. She had her mother’s looks, which was a blessing. Fellingas was a bit self-conscious. She asked him, “Can I get you hot tea?”

“Nay, fair lady. This is official. Lord Kath; the King and Queen would like a word before the banquet. Could you attend them at quarter of the six-bell this evening?”

Nag Kath said, “Thank you Lieutenant. Please tell their Highnesses I would be honored.”

The three on the porch watched in agony for the young man to say something else to the waiting Torenne but all he could manage was, “Thank you, sir. Dornlas, your family is welcome too. This will be a gathering in the old style.” As he was riding back to the Meduseld, both men looked at the daughter who calmly sipped her tea and drifted back inside.

Dornlas, Annlie and Torenne walked with Nag Kath into the Golden Hall. They were early but the room was already filling. An assistant chamberlain showed Nag Kath to the royal quarters which were located behind the throne. He was seated at a small table. Ale was brought but he would not touch it until raised in toast to his hosts.

Not long after, the King and Queen entered and dismissed the door guards. Nag Kath rose and bowed. King Éomer said, “My Lady, this is Nag Kath, recently of Gondor.” The Elf bowed again. “Please, be seated.”

Queen Lothíriel looked a great deal like her brother Erchirion of Dol Amroth. It was said their son looked very much like her father Prince Imrahil. She said gently, “Thank you for joining us, Lord Kath.”

“I am honored, My Lady.”

“It is I who am honored. You did my family a great service in saving my brother and possibly my father at risk to yourself. I am pleased to thank you in person.”

Nag Kath graciously accepted the compliment and admitted, “I have not kept-up with the south. I hope all goes well with Lord Erchirion and his family.”

“It has been some months since I last heard but his girls are strong and fine. He is restored and beloved once again.” The Queen added with a little mirth, “And I understand the healer you left behind cannot retire for all of the lordly business coming her way.”

That brought the Nag Kath grin, “I should imagine, Your Highnesses! Mrs. Hürna was probably the strongest of her kind left among free peoples. She will be safe in your father’s fair land.”

Éomer said almost as a question, “Not the strongest, perhaps.”

“I am a work in progress, My Lord.”

The Lady asked, “What did you do for my brother?”

“He had been influenced by two witches working in concert, much as Saruman had confounded My Lord’s kingly uncle. I interrupted their lines of power and Mrs. Hürna completed his treatment since she was the expert in restoration. Your Lord father’s men watched where the witches were joined and discovered they were hired by a man of the court seeking to elevation his position.”

Éomer then said, “And you brought water to the people as you said.”

“Yes sir. I think of that as healing beforehand. I am sure King Elessar has told you but your Lady Sister is well and sends her regards.” Prince Faramir would be in Minas Tirith now as Steward until the King’s return.

The King then asked, “My dear, have I told you about the wargs?”

Gently; “Many times, my love. We should join the others.” With that they rose and walked into the Golden Hall. 

King Elessar Telcontar, his officers and staff were already there as were a dozen Lords of the Mark, some with wives. Unlike Gondor, ranking women seldom traveled the great distances necessary to get here on relatively short notice. The King’s main properties were but two hours away and he spent more time in the capital than many of his predecessors. 

The hall of Meduseld wore many hats. It was the throne room, the largest meeting hall in the Kingdom, seat of justice for a variety of grievances and could hold a grand party. Large tables were scattered throughout the room. Other than the royal dais, people sat where they wanted. Ale casks were at convenient tables with what must be the entire stock of mugs in the county. Before everyone sat for the meal, Nag Kath asked Dornlas if Captain Altheras’ family was represented. 

The lanky soldier-turned-landlord answered, “Aye, I saw his grandson, at least, I think it was him, looks like his grandmother if that helps.” In a land of tall men, their own height did not help in surveying the crowd. “We don’t generally mix socially but if I see him again, I’ll mention you. Look for the same Landsdown gorget patches on his collar.” Nag Kath saw Torenne talking with friends. She caught his gaze but did not respond. When a tall soldier brought her a mug he realized that was the twin sister. Dornlas took a swig, “I know. I can’t tell them apart either.”

Nag Kath wandered about looking for older wounded men but did not see any. He did run into Captain Altheras saying, “Excuse me, sir. I am Nag Kath and was known to your grandfather after the war. He was very kind to me.”

The man did favor his elegant grandmother. Reaching out his hand he said, “Delthanas Whormandal, at your service, Nag Kath. Forgive me; I do not recall how you met.”

“I was in the party that returned from the White City all those years ago. Your grandfather gave me a sword upon reaching Edoras and I value it greatly.”

“Yes, now I remember him saying so. You are aging well, sir.”

Nag Kath brushed his hair behind his ear. Wormandal nodded his understanding and said, “You were the one with the wargs.”

It would take several more generations for that story to become a legend. Nag Kath asked, “I also drew a picture of the mountains across the plain here. Has that survived?”

The Captain’s eyes brightened as he exclaimed, “Yes! That has an honored position in the great room. Every time I come here I look at the view in remembrance.” 

“Then it lives on.” They talked for a time with the usual offer to visit when one or the other was close. Nag Kath mentioned he was returning to a home in Dale after a long absence. Dale was much in conversation here. As separate kingdoms with friendly Gondor between, they had become major trading partners in what was now called the Reunited Peace. 

The royals and dignitaries found their places at the head but remained standing as King Éomer raised a fine goblet. The Hall went silent, “Lords, Ladies, friends and patriots, I present to you King Elessar Telcontar of Gondor and Arnor!”

That brought a deafening thunder of cheers and applause. Éomer continued, “He is come today with his noble host to celebrate our victory together and look to great things in our future!”

Aragorn waited until the din died. He was not as good as bellowing as his brother King but was still effective in a crowd, “Thank you for coming and sharing our festivities. Memories made then and now from the courage and love between our peoples will live on for an age!”

Edorans could punish the pantry as well as anyone in Middle-earth. Nag Kath sat with Dornlas talking old times and watching Torenne bat her eyelashes at bashful young men. The Lieutenant had better make his move soon. When the last course was done, folk began mingling again or leaving for an early start in the morning. Aragorn remembered and greeted many of the men who came to Gondor’s aid, including Dornlas who was wounded at Morannon. The gray hairs and no hairs were here tonight. 

The next day was uneventful so folk could recover from the Rohan red. As was his habit, King Elessar let half of his men enjoy while the other half stood guard. They alternated events. Nag Kath was invited up to the hall again on the day of their departure to be fared well by the King and Queen. She had a special smile for her brother’s sake. Nag Kath got a closer look at Prince Elfwine, who did indeed look like his grandfather Imrahil.

Two days later they rode to the Deep. Nag Kath should have gotten a chill in his spine from this place but it hadn’t bothered him either time. He thought of it as where Regalid got lucky. Aragorn took a late lunch with the Provost Marshall but his purpose here was to see Gimli who had splendid meals planned himself. Most of the escort was billeted in the Deeping Halls as the King, his ministers and Nag Kath were shown inside the Glittering Caves, no waiting, no surly junior Dwarves this time. Again a splendid time was had with feasting and Durin’s Folk’s version of the malted beer. It seems beer is brewed cold and there are always cold places in the deep. The Elf did get a few minutes with Gimli and presented him a sketch of the waterfall showing a stone inscribed in his honor. Thurgin was also there and lauded among both peoples. 

This was only a two-day affair. On the second morning, Nag Kath asked the King if they would be stopping in Isengard. At first Aragorn wondered if the Elf did not want to go. It can’t have been a place of warm associations. To reassure his architect he said, “No, we will send a runner out today bringing the Provost to the Gap for discussions.”

The famed grin emerged before he said, “Then may I suggest the man have a look through the stores? Gandalf kept his firework powders boxed in the kitchen, well away from flames. I do not think he took them when he left. I can write the markings.” Nag Kath thought for a moment and added, “It would help if the man can read and under no circumstance should he inspect it by torch.”

Aragorn smiled as well and asked Nag Kath to do so with haste as the trooper would ride shortly. When the cortege reached the Gap, the Provost reported finding the small, strong crate. It was to stay where it was until the King passed this way again or be sent to Minas Tirith if His Lordship took another route. The man did bring two bags of each color back as Nag Kath asked.

One of the first bridges built after the war was a joint project between Aragorn and Éomer across the Isen. Now almost twenty five years old, it was in superb condition, anchored in solid rock on either side over a chasm slightly upstream of the old ford. Crossing it brought him to a land of memory. He learned to fish here, was threatened by the Huntsman. He saved the Durgan cousins and met Tal.

This was no hard fight. Farmers lined the roads as the procession came by, throwing spring flowers in their path. There were still hillmen, but they stayed to their hills in pockets above and below the Meados holdings. Trum Dreng was even more prosperous and of enough size that the King agreed to a stately dinner. 

They arrived early which gave Nag Kath time to ride the streets and recall events that lived in his mind. The granary was now divided into shops but the little loading compound was still there. The cobbler’s had a weaving sign out front. To his relief, the mayor was not named Cathad and no middle-aged men burned their stares through him. The Elf did ask if Elf Slippers were still the pride of the town and was assured they were but he was a month early. 

Just when he thought he got away clean, a tall, stately man arrived late and made his obeisance to the King before sitting five chairs from Nag Kath. It was Captain Marchand. The Elf leaned over his dinner and caught the man’s eye. Marchand’s hearty grin emerged and he called, “By thunder! It is the Scourge of the Revanthars!”

Everyone at the table went silent looking at the man who did not seem to mind. The warrior was as close to royalty as Trum Dreng could boast. Mayor Gurthan quickly said, “Sire, may I introduce Captain Marchand of the Northpass.”

The King defused the situation by saying, “It is good to see you again, Colonel. Thank you for your service.”

“It has always been my honor, My King.”

Nag Kath excused himself and sat on the end to talk old times with his fellow conspirator. He would have much to tell Talereth when he saw her again.

The barge camp was now a formal ferry station but still served the same purpose of accumulating loose logs from upstream or preparing them for use later. A third of the guard took the first trip. The King was on the second and the rear-guard followed. Two days further along, Nag Kath showed them where he met the Huntsman. There was even a crackle in the air. The King looked east and said quietly, “He did not care for me and my kin when we traveled these lands long ago. We were both trying to keep it safe for our own kind.” Turning to Nag Kath he asked, “Do you think he is still out there?”

“We parted on good terms but we should let him sleep if he is at his great Hall. I think of him as a watchdog. If he is roused to hunt, it means enemies have returned.”

Aragorn agreed, “Then we will let him slumber.”

The trip to Tharbad was just as dull and featureless. Even if the Huntsman was not awake, mosquitoes were. Men knew to bring sheer linen gauze to wrap around their necks and faces. Horses swished their tails as best they could but everyone wanted to make the river as soon as possible. The city was largely un-restored. The south bank was in better shape and much of the center had been demolished to use the stones for a quay. The Gwalthlo still flooded almost every year but it had not been destructive. They arrived early and crossed the bridge ferry the same way they did the Dusenorn. 

Nag Kath looked for a little man selling pies and blessed his memory.

_____________--------______________

He was on new ground. For three uneventful days they made for the market town of Thalion. It was a pleasant place. None of it looked newer than the war. Nag Kath wasn’t sure how much marketing was done here since there were relatively few farms but the road was in good condition with well-established campgrounds along brisk streams. They also managed a much better dinner than they would have camping in the wild. Three more days took them to the Sarn Ford on the Baranduin River. Now late spring, there was still enough flow to get everyone soaked in the crossing. This had been a stronghold of the Dúnedain until being driven out by the Ringwraiths in the war. The place had the usual crumbling Numenorean statuary but no one lived here. As they let their things dry before dinner, King Elessar sat next to Nag Kath and asked him to sketch the site with a view to building a bridge here someday. 

The company cut overland to avoid following the bend in the river but rejoined it after skirting the Overbourn Marches and fording the Shirebourn Stream. Then the road more or less followed the Brandywine, as it was called here, to the town of Stock.

The crafty ranger King could have traveled any number of trails to Hobbiton but he had a good reason to take the long way. In Stock, Aragorn formally applied at the Town Hall for permission to enter the Shire. They had been hugging inside the periphery for several days but not intruding. Master Veritude Blankfoot approved the writ with a flourish of his huge, carved stamp. This was staged in advance. If the King himself had to request passage according to his own rules, no one else could claim they were too busy to comply. 

They politely declined the Master’s offer of hospitality to cut the corner to a more sizeable Hobbit town called Whitfurrows on the East Road. The King and a few of the older members of the company stayed at a pleasant little inn and everyone else made camp. It was rumored that brewed beverages were brought to the soldiers by admiring subjects. Nag Kath never said. 

Men were in the saddles at dawn for a hard ride to the heart of the Shire. They followed the south bank of the River Water through Frogmorton and the little town of Bywater. Turning northeast just past the junction of the three farthings, the horses clattered into the outskirts of Hobbiton. Along the whole way, citizens came out to cheer and watch. Some threw flowers along the road but most just smiled and waved. Captain Bessandol had the men secure the horses in a rope paddock several hundred paces from the village.

___________-------___________

It was no secret the King was coming. A huge tent had been erected in a flat pasture with several smaller tents arrayed in a semi-circle around it. One was the barracks for the tall people. One was for the King. Hobbits of all shapes and sizes were preparing in no great rush. It was nearing dinner time for folk who took dinner very seriously.

A fine feast had been laid for the soldiers. As in Edoras, half of his security detail had to be on duty at any given time. The others could participate in festivities. They would be here two days so each tranche would take some ease. The King, his officers and staff, including Nag Kath, would eat in a third tent with a few Shire notables. The Elf was last to join them after seeing to the horses.

There were more than a few notables. Like in Rohan, the long, lead table had reserved seats but everyone else sat where they landed. There was certainly an unspoken protocol but Nag Kath did not know it. He joined the Mayor of Tuckborough, his wife and three merchant couples from Michel Delving. As Nag Kath knew well, Hobbit women had no trouble expressing their views, especially since ale had been flowing before the King arrived. The changeling offered occasional views on the world at large but the conversation mostly turned on the local sensation that Mrs. Goodwallace, a reputable and comely widow, was considering marriage to Lestam Brogad, of all people!

It was understood that the royal company would be tired with much to do tomorrow so the guests excused themselves after punishing piles of viands and more than a few goblets of wine from the Southfarthing. When his table emptied, he caught Aragorn’s glance at the head table and rose to join them. There were three Hobbit men and their wives. He sat in an empty chair as one of the couples joined the townsmen leaving the room. The King said, “Ladies, Gentlemen, this is Nag Kath. Nag Kath, these are Meriodic and Estella Brandybuck and Peregrin and Diamond Took.”

Nag Kath said, “It is a pleasure to meet you. Thank you for your hospitality.”

He wasn’t sure if this was arranged but the women saw a friend near where Nag Kath had been sitting and excused themselves to say goodbye. Peregrin reached out his hand to shake, “Quite welcome.” 

Merry did the same. The King was not sure how Nag Kath would be received but needn’t have worried. There was very little about the changeling that was not known to these Hobbits and most of that was good. Pippin said, “As my cousin Lemuel Took has it, you throw one fine Syndolan party! Were you one of the White Hand Uruks of Helm’s Deep?” He had his share of ale as well and was never bashful.

“Actually, Thain Took, I was one of the company trying to ambush your Fellowship. The main group went to Rauros and a small group of us backtracked up the Mering Stream in the event you went to Minas Tirith.”

That was Boromir’s recommendation. Saruman anticipated that possibility, courtesy of Sauron’s interference with Steward Denethor. Both of the Hobbits evaluated the Elf for a moment. It had been thirty years since the war and they would never forget the faces of the Uruk-hai who captured and abused them fleeing to Orthanc. Nag Kath smelled better. Merry asked, “How did you survive?”

“Wiser minds than mine are not sure. The prevailing theory is that I have some of Saruman’s blood in me that avoided the death of the ring.” Aragorn listened intently. He had never heard more than the rough translation of this story in Nag Kath’s interrogation and thought he should have talked with the changeling about other than water.

Nag Kath continued, “I was captured and in prison while the battle on the Pelennor raged. After Sauron was destroyed, I spent the next year changing. Now this is speculation; but I read in Rivendell that Morgoth captured Elves, mutilating them with sorcery to create his orcs. It took months. Knowing what I now know of Elvish recuperation, the Dark Lord must have done this many times, waiting until the Elves almost healed and then subjecting them to worse torment. I did the reverse. I would be stricken by pain and then sleep for a few days, eat a little and then repeat the process, may be a hundred times. When King Elessar kindly released me, I walked out like this. 

“Gandalf said he had returned from death to complete his task. Perhaps I am here to continue in his footsteps.”

Pip asked, “Will you go to Undying Lands? Elves come through here on their way to the Grey Havens, or they used to, making for the great ships.”

“I have not felt the pull of Valinor. They leave because they must. And, I have not been invited. Elves tolerate me but I am not of them. I just turned 33 last week so I finally look my age. I have always lived among men and count it a good life.”

The two Hobbits looked at each other and thought they should collect their better halves and find a bed. Merry announced, “We are off. Tomorrow we will have a grand feast to celebrate the return of the King!”

Nag Kath said, “Tonight was no small event.”

Aragorn chuckled, “Then you know less of Halflings than you think! Gentlemen, I will see you in the morning.” They made their way out.

_____________--------______________

Being the only one in the Shire who did not sleep, Nag Kath took his blanket out to a knoll near the little stone bridge watched the stars. The Evenstar would not appear until before the dawn but the summer constellations were in full glory. He was glad his meeting with the Fellowship Hobbits had gone well. One of them was missing but he still might meet him at the celebration. Looking at the tent by the half-moon, he wondered if this was where great Bilbo disappeared and set off to Rivendell. So much had happened here. Aragorn could more easily have made for Fornost and then to his incipient summer capital of Annúminas on the lake, but only three times in his long kingship did he bypass the Shire both up and down from the White City.

Hobbits aren’t early risers. A few were up with the chickens but it wasn’t until full light that the town began to stir. Nag Kath stood and stretched before walking by the paddock to scratch Charlo and collect his art satchel. He then wandered to the other side of the bridge to sketch the party tent and scenery. That was an ill-fated intention. He was not halfway through when children gathered round him whispering and giggling. The second plan was to give each of them a picture of their faces to universal delight. It took two hours. One little girl, hand-in-hand with an older brother, looked like a miniature version of how Helien might have grown. His heart grew heavy but he put it aside so the little girl could share in the joy with her friends. When the kids left he filled-in details on the Sarn Ford bridge for the King.

Dozens of Halflings were carting, rolling or carrying things to the party tent. These folk are earnest about their celebrations and sampled everything to be sure it was of sufficient quality. That slowed their effectiveness as the day wore on but not their enthusiasm. Nag Kath lent a hand carrying some of the heavier items and introducing himself to the woolly-footed little people. Near the stream, most of the soldiers had taken discreet swims to clean weeks of dust out of the pores and do a little laundry. Horses and weapons were cleaned too. Days of rest were rare when traveling with the King.

Aragorn was right. This was indeed a celebration to make his Syndolan Eve parties look puny. There must have been two hundred Hobbits at least walking to the tent when the hour approached. And unlike most free-peoples, children were welcome. These were such well-mannered folk that their little ones needn’t be excluded from conversation. Nag Kath walked inside the tent and introduced himself to anyone who cared. 

There was Assistant Ambassador Higgenboth in the ale line. He had retired and returned home four years before but was, alas, recently widowed. They shared stories of Minas Tirith before the gentleman was swept away by well-meaning relatives eager to introduce him to a fine lady from Michel Delving who was visiting the Bolgers for a week. As with the night before, Nag Kath joined a table of townsfolk who had an endless supply of local gossip. It included the mother of the little girl from the bridge. Nag Kath waved at the child and she held her hands over her face only to peek through her fingers and see he was still there. She had her picture in a smock pocket.

The evening officially started with speeches long and short from the good citizens of the Shire and a few words from the King. With so many toasts, Nag Kath wondered that his fellow celebrants would be soused, but the clever Hobbits need only take a sip after crying; ‘Hear, hear’ to observe the forms. Everyone had a roaring good time. His table featured an animated discussion between two elderly farmers that kept everyone’s attention. 

After the meal, parents began taking children home, some to return. Others mingled with friends they had not seen since lunch. Pippin and King Elessar walked through the crowd saying hello to many. Merry and a shorter, rounder Hobbit came from the other direction and met near Nag Kath’s table. The Elf gestured for them to take the empty chairs.

Merry said, “Nag Kath, this is Samwise Gamgee, another of our Fellows!”

Nag Kath stood and offered his hand. The Hobbit shook it somewhat haltingly before finding his seat. Pippin had by now downed uncounted half-pints of the local tan. It was time for one of his oldest stories. Folk at the table secretly groaned, but they stayed because Hobbits love old stories. 

He began, “It was long ago at a great party right here! Merry and I were so much younger then!”

Merry cried, “I was a mere wisp of a lad!”

Pippin rejoined, “Gandalf was setting off his fireworks for Bilbo’s birthday, not that we knew he was leaving that very night! And didn’t you know; we made off with a great rocket and fired it ourselves. We must have aimed it wrong because it became a huge dragon that swooped down on the revelers and scared them silly. Then it exploded over the lake and all rejoiced.”

Merry chided gently, “I told you to set it in the ground.”

Nag Kath said softly, “I have a tale you can add to that.” He knew that if you can make yourself heard; speaking quietly will get more attention that yelling over a din. The table grew still. “Masters Meriodoc and Peregrin; the Ents restored Orthanc to a place of beauty and growth not long after you left. To clean up, Gandalf let iron miners from Dunland salvage the slag and leavings in the pits. It was hard, dirty work but still much easier than pounding the same amount of metal from solid rock.

“The understanding was that they could keep whatever they found but they had to take it far away for smelting so as not to disturb Gandalf’s studies. Well, most salvagers complied … but not all." The tale-teller became graver and more dramatic, "Then, one night, a flock of flaming red Nazgûl screamed down from the clouds directly over the former Dunlending quarters in retribution for the foul noise. The miners were terrified and behaved from that day on! Ten months later, on Syndolan Eve, the wizard let loose his great silver and green rockets. The salvagers were sure terror was unleashed again but their little children came out and giggled. It was then they knew they had been fooled. Gandalf chuckled every time he thought of that!”

Everyone laughed except Samwise. A fellow at the end of the table toasted, “Now you have a better ending for your story Pip!”

Nag Kath spoke thoughtfully, “Gandalf was very fond of you two, although he would get sore frustrated as well.”

Merry objected, “We were perfect gentlemen!”

The Elf countered, “It was more the situation. This is a funny story too. The whole time I was there, Gandalf was forever fussing with inferior Cardolan pipe weed. He did not care for the taste and could never keep it lit. Radagast sympathized, which only made it worse. And all the while, he would lament that both of you made off with the best leaf!”

Pippin cried, “It was his own fault! He should have been quicker off the mark.”

“Oh, he would agree with you. I think it was that Saruman scolded him for his liking of Halfling weed and secretly had a stash of the finest. All Gandalf could get was what he called, well, we’ll leave that description for when the children are abed.” Looking at the unrepentant Pippin, “And yours was gone by Edoras.” 

Aragorn chuckled, thinking of his old friend, and lit a pipe of his own followed by several around the table. Nag Kath never smoked himself but enjoyed the aroma. Merry boasted; “See, Pip! I was always his favorite.”

Nag Kath said quietly, “Nay, Master Meriodic. He loved you all, you and Frodo and Mr. Samwise too, but his favorite was Bilbo. He had his big, heroic Gondoran and Rohirrim guards with him but they were no hands at ferreting out the secrets of that nasty old castle. Many were the times he wished he had his burglar. I found a few things.” Looking to the King, “I hope you got Elendil’s miter.” Aragorn nodded.

The Elf became more subdued, “But there was more. He said he knew when Bilbo relinquished the One Ring that there was hope for free peoples. When his mood was black and uncertain, that one act of selflessness rekindled his spirit and gave him strength for what was to come.”

Just as his tale ended, the young woman from his table came up to Samwise and kissed him on the cheek before saying, “Rosa is ready to sleep, da. I’ll take her home.” Looking at the little girl she reminded, “And what do you say?”

The child walked to Nag Kath with her picture and said, “Thank you, Mr. Kaff.” Duty done, she ran to her mother and showed her grand-da the sketch. He looked at the sweet face on the sheet for a long moment before the Gamgees bowed to the King and made for their homes.

Aragorn and Nag Kath also started for their tents. On the way, the King wondered, “Will you return to the White City, Nag Kath?”

“I intend to. It may be a while. My family there is lost to me but friends are dear. I will travel, learn and make what I can of myself.”

The King said thoughtfully, “Now that you have been abroad, do you think your talents are more Elvish or sorcerous?”

“More sorcerous, but both are weak. I’ve had no real training. When I think that the great Elvish healers or any of the wizards are many thousands of years old, I suppose that is to be expected.”

"Are you stronger?"

"Smarter."

Aragorn continued, “If you think to continue Gandalf’s work, I have heard reports of stirrings in the barrow downs. Before Bree, to the right, is where Angmar soldiers were buried and said to be made murderous ghosts by the Witch-King. Merry and Éowyn killed him but some of his foul spells linger.”

Nag Kath said, “There seems to be no shortage of dead Angmaris. We trod on them in east Dunland.”

“You might be the only one left in Middle-earth who would notice if something’s amiss. Keep your eyes peeled. Come see me when you can. Thank you again for bringing water to my people.”

The Elf bowed and blessed his liege, “Go in peace, My Lord.”

“And you, Nag Kath.”

_____________--------______________

As usual, Aragorn’s company was off early. He would take the three day trip to Annúminas where, hopefully, restoration was being done on his summer capital. It had not been a working city for almost two thousand years but many buildings were salvageable.

Nag Kath was at leisure. Charlo was concerned at being left behind so his master scratched behind his ear and soothed him. The Elf had some left-over porridge and cut a cane to try his hand at fishing in the little river running along the town. Two large trout, unfamiliar with string-wrapped hooks, were quickly taken and wrapped in a wet towel for tonight’s dinner.

He wandered around the town to get a sense of the place before taking the road back the way he came. Up one of the hills he saw Samwise Gamgee sitting in a comfortable chair in his front garden enjoying a pipe. The Hobbit rose to no towering height and shook hands over the fence saying, “I hope your visit was a pleasant one, Mr. Kaff.”

“Indeed, Master Samwise. Your home is as fair as described. Was that your grand-daughter last night?”

“Rosa.”

“Oh, here is another picture.” Nag Kath handed Sam a sketch of the older brother who brought Rosa to the bridge. “He was not much interested but perhaps his parents will like it.”

The sketch was on the back side of a discarded bridge rendering. The Elf seldom threw paper away. Thinking it was ancient, Sam looked at both sides and asked, “You are a historian?”

“Oh yes. I have no past so I borrow others’. My next stop is Rivendell to visit the library.”

Mayor Gamgee paused for a moment before saying, “Follow me. Do you like tea?”

Nag Kath stooped low to get through the round door and then stood to almost his full height. He must be the tallest person to ever be inside this hole. The ceiling was arched to support the weight of the soil above so he could stand at the center of each room. A tousled, middle-aged woman wandered in wearing her robe looking shocked at first and then slightly piqued at her husband for not announcing guests. She was introduced as Rosie and she volunteered to get tea for the visitor after changing into something more presentable. 

Sam showed the Elf into another room where a large book was open on a purpose-built stand. Sam nodded towards it but said nothing. Nag Kath carefully flipped backwards a few pages. Samwise said, “That is the Red Book of Westmarch. Bilbo started it, Frodo continued and I have added a few things over the years. You might enjoy reading it.”

Nag Kath picked it off the stand and looked for a place to sit without hitting his head. One chair looked taller than the others and he sank into it holding the red book in his lap. Rosie returned with a mug of tea and the two Hobbits left him alone.

It took two hours to read and another to go back to places he bookmarked with scraps of paper to make notes. He also copied many of the pictures, including a sketch of Frodo that Sam drew just before the Hobbit left Middle-earth. Nag Kath's tea was cold by the time he noticed. He rose, watching his head, and carefully put the volume back on its stand. Then he wandered into the main room and cleared his throat. Rosie came from a back room and curtsied. Sam was in moments later.

Nag Kath said, “That was very generous of you, sir. Most of what I read is old and long completed. This is alive. Please take good care of that.” 

The Elf did not wonder at Sam’s reticence. There was no reason to think he had been forgiven or forgotten by all in Middle-earth. Merry and Pip were abducted and mistreated by his own pod-spawn before being rescued by Éomer. They recovered from their wounds and trauma. But Sam saw his best friend stabbed in the soul, so deeply that he needed to leave with folk he hardly knew hoping for solace in a far away land. Nag Kath had just done that himself. It was a basis for understanding.

_____________--------______________

Hobbiton did not sound bells for the time. They had water clocks of course, good ones too, but how folk managed their time was their business except for scheduled events. Nag Kath made it about noon when he pointed Charlo east. For the next few days Nag Kath would retrace his route on the East Road. Folk were not used to seeing big people. Quite a few remembered him with Aragorn’s company days before and waved, or did not care and waved anyway. Nag Kath always stopped to chat. Older Hobbits recalled days when all traveled their roads, but no one under thirty-five was used to seeing anyone as tall as him or full-sized horses.

With the late start and no particular hurry, they made Frogmorton by dinner. He gave his fish to the kitchen and enjoyed a good meal with cheerful companions. Nag Kath was past needing sleep except after magic, which was good since the inn had no beds even close to his size.

The next day brought horse and rider to the Brandywine Bridge. This was one of the oldest bridges he had seen in Middle-earth. Friends and foes used it rather than burning it. Nag Kath took some comfort in that. The river was the border into Arnor. Just to the other side was a small village whose sole purpose was trading with Hobbits. Both sides took their sovereignty seriously. Large carts exchanged goods with small carts. Almost every place had ale on tap.

When he wasn’t well-wishing, Nag Kath thought of the King’s admonition about troubles just south. Anything Aragorn said was serious by itself but Frodo’s entries in the Red Book also mentioned the Barrow-downs. By loose accounts, the Numenorean Witch-King sent foul ghosts to corrupt honored graves of the fallen. Now that the Chief Nazgûl was dead; were his spells failing? Or were former servants taking powers unto themselves? 

That was always a tense internal conversation. A few years back he tried to coax a failing butterbean stalk to strengthen. Two days later it was dead. The poor plant might have been doomed anyway but his magic was no better than useless - perhaps worse. The changeling decided he would try every hundred years. 

They stopped at an established campsite along the road about ten miles east of the bridge with enough light for Charlo to graze. Nag Kath claimed a smaller fire-ring, the larger ones already taken. Three camps over were several Dwarves. He approached them singing a song so as not to be a surprise and asked if they had tidings of Dale. These fellows were from the western side of the Misty Mountains but amiable and knew or knew of folk Nag Kath had met. 

Back at his camp, the Elf made a pot of tea and nibbled way-bread. Two men in the camp just east were having an animated discussion about disturbances in the water. The conversation ended with one man shouting; ‘Aughhh!’ and the other saying, ‘Here, let me see.’

Nag Kath brought his little medical kit to offer aid. By firelight he saw two small people, perhaps Dwarf-height, but much leaner and balder with no beards. One stopped to look at him while the other hopped from foot to foot holding his left hand tightly and hissing in pain.

Nag Kath said, “I heard distress. I am a healer if I can be of assistance.”

The injured man said more in anger than shock, “Cut myself on a loose wheel rim.”

The other scolded, “I told you that needed fixin’.”

“I know! Let us wait until this is cared-for first!”

Nag Kath offered; “Let me have a look.”

The Man released the grip of his good hand and opened the other. Then he wiped the blood on his trousers to display a nasty laceration down the palm that had not reached the artery in his wrist. Nag Kath nodded and said, “I’ve got something for that. Is your tea water hot?”

The uninjured man said, “Aye, but it is already tea.” 

Nag Kath told the hurt man to gently squeeze a clean cloth from the bag and said to the other, “That should be fine.” Then he fished two small bottles from the bag and asked for a quarter inch of tea in a cup. Mixing a pinch from each bottle, he stirred it into paste with his finger and then smeared that on the wound. The bleeding man yowled but held his hand firm. Nag Kath closed the fellow’s fist around the cloth again and applied a pain spell in soft silver. Neither man liked the look of that but with relief came acceptance.

The healthy traveler said, “We are in your debt, sir. I am Lembert Fellens and this clumsy fellow is my older brother Wenbert. I have frequently told him to repair that wheel rim but he needs memorable lessons.”

Wenbert was in no mood to discuss it. The Elf rejoined, “I am Nag Kath, just recently in the Shire and now making for the mountains. Mr. Fellens, I need to sew that tear shut. The silver you saw will kill the pain for less than a bell so we should do this now. The man nodded and held steady as his brother hovered a torch for Nag Kath to use one of his fishhooks that had been bent half open with the barb ground flat on a rock. It took seventeen small loops.

The Elf said, “I am afraid that your brother will have to do the heavy lifting for a week or two else you’ll pull the stitches. Replace the bandage twice a day and apply that poultice until it is gone.”

Wenbert ventured, “Lembert often does the work that does not require thinking. What do we owe you for your medicining?”

“Please, do not think of it. Heal well and hoist a half-pint when you can grip it.”

Lembert said, “We can offer you no better than the tea you just used, but you are welcome to more.”

The Elf smiled, “That is a generous offer! Let me quench my own fire and I will rejoin you directly.”

The brothers were River People. They did not volunteer any specifics of their race or where they were from, at first. Not all merchants left home on the best of terms. They could not have known he overheard their concerns about eastern waters so Nag Kath took the roundabout way to that conversation. “I was just in the Shire and am traveling to Bree. Do you know it?”

Lembert said, “Course! Can’t hardly get from here to there as you don’t go through Bree.”

“I was traveling with a company from the south and parted ways a few days ago so I am new to these lands.”

The pain spell was wearing-off and Wenbert was trying not to open and shut his fist against the throbbing. He still managed to say, “With the King, were you?”

With no reason to dissemble, “Aye, he makes for Arnor while I travel to Dale.”

Lembert grinned, “No secrets here, Nag Kath. We are bringing salted pork from Bree to replenish their stocks after what must have been Lordly gatherings. Are you a counselor to King Elessar?”

Nag Kath enunciated carefully, “Yes, I helped with an aqueduct in Osgiliath. Now that the taint of Mordor is past, a stream from the Ephal Düath is clean to drink.”

Lembert probed, “Know you of darkness in water, then?”

“A little.”

Lembert looked at his brother who was trying to stay quiet and then followed with, “There is a small lake south of the east road. It is no great body of water at all. Fishermen there are sore worried about it.”

Wenbert interrupted, “It is not the water. It is something in it. Fish on hooks come out bitten in two. We came up the crossroads at Nylar’s Grove and passed by yesterday, no, two days past.”

The Elf asked, “Is it something to be vanquished or avoided?”

Wenbert; “Depends on your sense of propriety.”

_____________--------______________

Nag Kath gave the Wenbert another pain spell in the morning and then steered Charlo south to follow the stream to Nylar’s Grove. At his speed, the lake wasn’t more than four hours out of his way. He checked the feeding stream for contamination before letting Charlo drink. 

There was a small village on the west bank of the lake where he saw an assortment of farmers and merchants. Children played hide-and-call along an ancient stone fence. There was nothing that looked like an inn or tavern so he asked one of the lads where he might get a bite. The bravest of them said the larger house at the corner had fare.

You had your choice of fresh loaves or fresh loaves with butter. He took the latter and munched one sitting inside a small, fenced patio. The lad who mentioned the place walked by and Nag Kath asked him if the lake offered good fishing to catch his dinner. That was a roundabout way of asking if local folk minded strangers pulling fish out of their lake. The boy said not to go out in a boat.

Nag Kath tore the end from his buttered loaf for Charlo and collected his line from the pack. He had no worms and he wasn’t really trying to catch anything so he cut a cane pole and selected a hook tied with green thread.

The water had a strange feel. Pretending to wash his hands, he felt it and let colors wash over him. The water itself was fine but felt there was something below, a presence. None of the fish of Nylar’s Grove were interested in green yarn but he kept tossing it out and watching the surface. A hundred yards down on the same side of the long lake several other fishermen suddenly pulled their lines and scurried up the bank. They were too far away to hear but clearly not enjoying their sport. He wandered towards them tossing his line twice before saying, “I declare; these fish are smarter than I am today!”

Two men and a lad of about fourteen gave him a hard scowl. He did not think that was because he was trying to catch their fish. Acting embarrassed, as if he had interrupted something private, he queried, “Excuse me, fellows. Is something wrong?”

One of the men growled, “No, nothing. This place is open if you like.” The others looked at him as if not sure that was good advice but they kept their lips buttoned.

As fishermen often do, Nag Kath asked, “What are they biting?”

The father of the boy said, “You’ll catch nothing worth eating here today.”

Nag Kath changed to his Elf Lord voice, “Tell me of this place.”

If the men weren’t frightened before, they were now. Neither man could mouth the words but the lad had no trouble, “There’s something fell under the surface, been there some months.”

The Elf asked, “Just one?”

His father found his tongue, “Far as we can tell.”

“What is it?”

The fellow who offered him their spot said, “Rendovas said he saw it, though he isn’t reliable after his ale. A mating of man and fish or beast. Eats the fish off the line.”

Nag Kath; “And you just saw it?”

The lad answered, “Saw the ripple. Scares the fish away. We’d rather eat fish than gruel, but this is no bargain.”

“Tell me, then, is this creature flesh or spirit?”

The boy’s father ordered, “Go fetch Rendovas.” As he dashed for the village his da added, “And bring him back dry.”

No one said anything for the ten minutes it took to fetch a shambling fellow with a halo of ginger hair around his gleaming head. Rendovas gave a courtly bow and waited well away from the shore.

Nag Kath did not want to scare him so he said softly, “Tell me, friend, what apparition lurks in this lake?”

The man reached for his head to remove the cap he had forgotten on the door-peg and shuffled slightly before saying, “Saw him plain as day. That is, as plain as a man can see what should not be. Rose and stood on the water at the Evenstar, dripping but not wet. I ran home, left my line on the bank, I did!”

Nag Kath gently coaxed a better description from the frightened villager. The other three listened intently. He would not have been surprised if one or both of the men were leaders of local folk. Then he asked what no reasonable being would ask, “How do I bring it to me?”

They all looked at Rendovas who would not look them back. Nag Kath thought it was for fear of monsters but some of it was that the man was the best fisherman in the village and he was being asked to divulge his secret bait. As if confessing the blackest spell of Angmar, the man groaned, “Deer jerky; soaked in barley spirits.”

The lad’s father ordered, “Better go get some for the man.” Rendovas, followed closely by the youngster, trudged back to his home and returned with a small leather pouch. He threw it to the Elf from the trail. Nag Kath took the pouch to the water’s edge and tossed a pinch of the bait twenty feet out.

Nothing happened. He tried again. The third try brought a ripple that sent the men another ten feet up the bank. The next bit of bait landed closer in. This time they caught a glimpse. There wasn’t much left in the sack so Nag Kath chose a target ten feet away in a deep pool and threw the rest. 

The creature was not as large as a man but seemed longer, more like an eel. When it came up to the bait, Nag Kath locked it in his bringing spell and raised it from the lake. It shrieked an oath and immediately released gallons of foul liquid, like a wineskin slit from the bottom. The monster withered and died moments later. Nag Kath drew it towards his hand and then released the spell to let it collapse on the bank. 

He leaned over and inspected it closely. This was no fish. It screamed as if human. It had arms and hands like a man but the rest was a water animal with scales. And it smelled worse than anything in Orthanc. Rendovas threw-up. With as straight a face as the Elf could manage he said, “I have no idea how to cook one of these.” 

_____________--------______________

That broke the pall just enough for them to gather themselves and make for the house where Nag Kath got his buttered loaf. 

Inside were three tables. An old fellow sitting at one of them saw the five men enter and remembered pressing errands elsewhere. Locals at the other two tables cocked their ears. 

The Elf asked, “Ever seen one of those before?”

The lad’s father said, “Course not. Who and what are you?”

“I am Nag Kath.”

“That’s who.”

The Elf added, “I am a wizard.” Getting back to business, “That creature was hungry. Has he eaten all of the fish?”

“The other of the two original men cleared his throat and said, “You will excuse us, Mr. Kath. We have clearly forgotten how to thank someone who had done us an honorable service.” With that he glared around the table to admonish the others. “My name is Zurzies. This motherless ingrate is Jergiens and to his left is his son Liviens. You’ve met Rendovas already.

“And to answer your appropriate question, no one has caught more than bait for months. More concerning; farmer Dilvenees lost a lamb last week.”

Nag Kath thought for a moment and offered, “I know little of water monsters but this one seemed rather stupid. Are there other, older spirits nearby that might be responsible?”

A large grizzled man at one of the other tables took that question; “Barrow-wights, further south, ancient dead who have not found peace.”

The Elf turned to him and asked, “They were not destroyed with the Ring?”

The grizzled man’s companion added, “Lore says a witch-king inflicted them to haunt the graves of good men. They can assume shape but cannot bear the sun. Heard tell those old spells linger.”

“Do you have any friends against this sorcery?”

Two said at once, “Tom.”


	13. Tom

**_Chapter 13_ **

**_Tom_ **

After assurances they would burn the carcass, Nag Kath continued south towards an area called the Barrow Downs. These were hillocks of crypts and mass burial sites much like the ones of eastern Dunland, with much the same men as casualties. It had a nasty feel but streams flowed clear. Veering southwest towards the Old Forest of Buckland, he found an area that was very fair and lush along a good trout stream. There were no roads or houses of any sort.

The men said this was where dwelt a spirit ancient before Elves or Lords, possibly even the Valar. No man in the store had ever seen him. None had ever volunteered to come here either so that was neither here nor there. Nag Kath made camp on the edge of the forest and waited. A doe walked up to him and accepted a treat. He did not fish but he did enjoy some tasty strawberries along with his Lembas.

For five days he waited and sketched and wrote a little, inspired by the red book in Sam’s study. Was that Bag End? He never thought to ask. At mid-afternoon on the sixth day, he heard singing from the trees. He could not tell the source. Merry and forceful, if not particularly melodic, it came from everywhere at once. After a while the voice seemed to consolidate nearby and asked, “Who visits us on this lovely day, a dil a day?”

The Elf stood and called, “It is Nag Kath, a traveler new to these lands.”

From the wood, seemingly near enough to touch, “I have not seen your kind before.”

“I am an unlikely breed.”

A figure stepped into the light from upstream. He was a stocky, bearded man with a face that was both old and young. Nag Kath thought at first he was in colorful homespun clothes before he noticed fine embroidering along the cuffs and collar. The man wore a feathered hat that he imagined could rival Gandalf the Gray’s for weight and hard use. He could only be Tom Bombadil of Frodo’s narrative. The man was appraising the changeling just as carefully.

Despite as badly as the offer had gone before, Nag Kath asked, “Can I offer you tea? It is a bit cold.”

Bombadil beamed a smile of strong teeth and said, “Yes, that is just the thing! Then you can tell me about your visit.” The creature made himself at home on a log while the Elf poured two cups of tepid tea. His guest served, Nag Kath sat on the log a few feet away and sipped silently.

Nag Kath thought this being was much like the Huntsman. He would not measure time since it had no meaning other than to order events. Mortals measure time in their lives, such as a great storm when Sophie was three. Nag Kath did too, for now.

Frodo’s entries in the Red Book were vague until he reached the Barrow-downs. From that point they became much more detailed. Nag Kath supposed that was because it was here that the Hobbit was first called to leadership. Tom took a large slurp of the tea and smacked his lips in satisfaction. Then he observed, “You have been waiting long. That is unusual in those who walk with two legs.”

“Aye. I was taught by those who value patience, though it sometimes eludes me.”

“And what are you waiting for?”

“You, sir.” Folk in a village to the north said I should seek your counsel.”

Bombadil took another sip of the tea and shook his head. “I cannot think why. I live here with my wife in peace and contentment. Folk know me as Tom Bombadil, minder of green and gold.”

Nag Kath had his own theories. He wondered if this being was nature made manifest so such as he could understand even a little of his world. Would Tom fade back into the forest? The Elf would rather have listened than talked but, like all hasty folk, he had questions. He reached into his satchel and pulled a picture of the monster as he remembered it alive. Handing it to Tom he said, “I destroyed this creature a week ago sixty miles north. When it was exposed to daylight, bilious liquids poured out as it withered and died. It only took a moment. And here …” pointing in the corner “… was a tattoo or mark on its arm.”

Tom looked at both quickly and smiled. It was a curious expression combining mirth and gravity that Nag Kath could never describe or draw later to his satisfaction. Handing the pictures back, Tom said, “Well, we must be off if we are to get warm supper!” Then he rose and traipsed back into the forest leaving Nag Kath to collect his things and horse. 

A Hobbit could not have caught the man but the Elf, walking Charlo, pulled even with him about fifteen minutes later. There was no losing him, though. Tom sang a combination of new verses and repeating choruses that could be heard no matter how far ahead he got. The lyrics made no sense but Nag Kath listened to every word in case the meanings became clearer.

That continued for two hours without rest or real conversation. As the sun was setting they reached a large, round house with light streaming out of a bank of windows. Nag Kath tied Charlo to a post to look at the home for a minute. He came out of his reverie when he noticed both Tom and his horse were gone. He could count on one hand the times he hadn’t heard something as noisy as a horse. Well, he was here for dinner so he walked up the stairs and knocked on the door. No one answered. It was unlocked so he let himself in. 

Nag Kath’s first impression was that like the hall of the Elf-keepers, it seemed larger on the inside than one would guess from the outside. There was a long dining table near the center of the room. A kitchen was in the far corner and there were at least two visible hallways. He waited by the door. A few minutes later, Tom Bombadil walked in through the back door and handed him his pack.

The large main room was arrayed with plants and flowers, something like Radagast’s home except much tidier. Tom called, “Goldberry, my water-daughter, I am home with a young guest. We will dine tonight, sing songs of old and delight in good company!”

From one of the halls emerged a vision of loveliness. She had blonde, wavy hair and fine, soft features. Nag Kath would have thought her an Elf but she had a more open, expressive face. Frodo had described her more thoroughly than her husband. Nag Kath’s heart froze because she looked so much like Flor. He was not as over Flor as he thought. Goldberry was taller than her husband and wore a pale green gown girded by a thin gold belt.

Seeming to glide across the room, the woman said, “Welcome, young Elf, if Elf you are. I am Goldberry.” She smiled like Flor too. He would have to mind his manners.

The changeling bowed gracefully in gratitude, “I am Nag Kath, My Lady. Thank you for your hospitality.”

Tom returned from hanging his extraordinary hat on a peg near the front door and announced, “Your fine horse is dining as well.” The man gestured to one of the halls, “Please, good sir, come with me and you can wash and relax after our journey here.” He took Nag Kath as far as the door and then the Elf continued to a back room of stone with a large clay basin of fresh water. There were pond lilies floating in it with soft towels laid nearby. He only rinsed his face and hands, having taken a Kath bath the day before. Returning to the main room, Nag Kath got the sense that there was magic in its maintenance. Keeping a home like this in Gondor would need one servant at least, even if the master and mistress did much of the work themselves. Tom and Goldberry were clearly unattended out here in the forest. Perhaps their home kept itself – and considerably better than Radagast’s.

His host and hostess showed him to the long table that had been laid with delicious foods including; fresh loaves, cheese, butter, jams and spice. Some dishes were hot but many were just picked. There were no meats or spirits of any kind. Just the same clear water as in the basin.

Nag Kath had a rough plan to learn as much as he could from these two fascinating creatures but they found much more about him by asking seemingly casual questions. It wasn’t until they were almost done with the meal that Tom Bombadil said, “Let me see your pictures again, young Kath.”

The Elf collected his satchel by his bag and laid the contents on the table so that the pictures he wanted were on the bottom of the stack. That was on purpose. Flipping through them in front of people often started useful conversations. One was a picture of Flor when she first moved in. That was quickly covered by a sketch of water pipe fittings but Nag Kath was sure both of his hosts saw her. 

“Ah, I started on the wrong side. Here he is. This one won’t win the fair lady’s heart!” Nag Kath slid the drawing to Tom as Goldberry walked behind her man. The Elf rose in courtesy to his hostess’ rising but she softly held her palm down for him to remain seated.

Tom said with his strange gravity and humor, “Tell me how you took the beast.”

“I lured him near the bank of the lake with fishing bait. Then I used a bringing spell to raise him from the water. I cannot claim to have killed him, though. Merely being in the light seemed to empty him within moments.”

Tom asked, “A bringing spell?”

“I have some powers as a wizard. Other wizards told me it is probably from Saruman. He created me. How; no one knows.”

The ancient leaned back in his chair and looked up at his wife. “And here we thought you would be a merry visitor.” He laughed just the same. Her expression did not change. “Very well. Here is what I think; that mark on its arm was a brand from the army of Angmar. Soldiers, generals, doesn’t matter; they all got one. So it was probably a wight”

That was along the lines Nag Kath had been thinking from Frodo’s description and the men at the lake lodge. He ventured, “Perhaps without the Witch-King they are casting about for new employment?”

“Um hum. Beautiful wife, love of my life, you know waters.”

Goldberry returned to her seat before saying, “It did not come up from water. I can only think a wight fell in the lake and transformed, though what he was doing there is a mystery.”

Tom said, “Yes, he would have stolen a body. Strange that the brand stayed with him.”

Nag Kath fought the temptation to keep quiet and failed, “I should think the brand was more than a sign of ownership. It may have been a binding so the soldier could never be free, in that life or any to come.”

Both of his hosts gave him long looks. Tom finally asked, “And how is it that you are righting wights?”

That earned them a Nag Kath grin, “Pure accident, so far, good sir.” He became graver, “I know something of transformations. I was one of Saruman’s orcs and became an Elf of old. What kind of Elf is unknown.” He let that hang in case Tom or Goldberry had something to share. When they didn’t, he continued, “I am very young by any counting, just three and thirty, but I have learned some healing and how to defend myself. King Elessar told me of disturbances in the area and I investigated on my way to Dale. With the Dark Lords gone, older, lesser powers are stirring. I wouldn’t go so far as to call a wight-fish a power, but it seems to be an expression of lingering spells.”

Bombadil said gleefully, “You are a puzzlement, my young friend! Now, let us speak no more of foulness. Tell me of the Halflings.”

True to his wish, they spoke of pleasant things. Then they sang. Nag Kath did not know any of Tom’s songs but he seemed to make them up anyway. Goldberry had a fair voice and was still almost drowned-out by Tom’s lusty baritone. Nag Kath told them of the Elf-keepers who he thought to see soon and then they all retired.

_____________--------______________

Nag Kath’s rest was unusual that night. He seldom dreamed, not that he remembered in any event. Most nights, his thoughts slowly fell away leaving a core consciousness. Tonight he dreamt of longing but without remorse or obsession. It was simply the understanding of desire. That thread vanished, replaced by contact from far away. There was no sender or message, just that someone had called to him. The rest of the dream was spent trying to find the source in vain.

He woke strangely refreshed and later than the sun. And he was sure his dreams were encouraged. After dressing and rinsing his face Nag Kath walked into the main room where Goldberry was weaving river reeds into a small basket. She had no trouble hearing the silent Elf and put her work down to return his bow. Unbidden she murmured, “You are a water spirit too, Nag Kath.”

“So I am told My Lady. I can divine its nature by touch.”

“That is unusual. Most men are of land or sky. Water is left to women. It moves and flows.”

He said cautiously, “I am sorry to have brought unpleasant tidings to your happy house.”

Goldberry giggled and soothed, “It was not a burden. Such things have long been here. We see them come and go. Tom attends his great gardens that provide for us. We endure.” She said gently, “Did you imagine me before? The picture?”

He had to think about that for a second. The sketch of Flor would be better than the average artist of Middle-earth could get to Goldberry. He raised his eyebrows and answered, “Oh, no, she is my wife, or, was my wife. I lost her.”

Goldberry was a picture of poise and grace, though that was not the answer she expected. Their home, mostly through Tom’s influence, was near to the imaginings of Irmo, Vala of dreams and visions. She wondered if he thought of her before coming. Most guests were visited by dreams beyond themselves, some of which had yet to happen. Some never did, but who can say the future?

Was this incipient wizard so reserved because she reminded him of a lost love? Elves are always reserved but he said he was of the society of men who are not known for subtlety. She would see how subtle, “Did you have a restful night, Nag Kath?”

“Indeed my lady. I woke refreshed.”

She brightened, “Good. This is a peaceful home, though sometimes noises of the forest waken folk not used to deep woods.”

Nag Kath caught her drift and said softly, “I was touched by desire, not for anything or anyone, just a sense of longing. I wondered if I would follow it or understand that I should not. It was replaced by the feeling that something was calling me from afar. I could not find who or where. It was not a voice known to me.”

So he was subtle, odd in someone so young. There were older humors in this one. “My Tom is gathering things for our breakfast. Must you leave soon?”

“I have no schedule at all, My Lady. If breaking our fast is as joyous as dinner, I am pleased to share it.”

As if waiting for his cue, Tom Bombadil was heard outside singing a rambling song. Not for the first time, Nag Kath thought those might be spells or wards to keep unruly beasts and plants, or who knows what, in their natural order. The man entered the back door and left a basket of berries by the basin. Then he walked to the table and landed with a thump in his same seat. Tom was not a chin-pincher because it was defended by a massive beard so he tugged at strands of that in thought before saying, “Good morning, Nag Kath! I hope you had a pleasant sleep.”

He said he did. Goldberry looked at her man. Everything else they needed to say was done through thought. Then she rose to wash the berries and warm loaves with butter while Tom and Nag Kath went out the back door. Tom split some kindling for their next fire and the Elf walked over to the stable for a look at Charlo. The horse was comfortable next to a pony sized just right for his owner, a well fed critter to be sure.

Returning to the house together, Nag Kath asked, “Tom, do you know Radagast?”

“Does not ring a bell, a ding a dell!”

“You might know him as Aiwendil, Bird Friend.”

Tom grinned, “Oh yes. Brown fellow, bout my height. I’ve not seen him in ages.”

The Elf kept on that line, “You seem very like him, tending for forests and creatures in them. He is busy restoring damage in Mirkwood after Sauron’s mischief.”

Tom said lightly, “You are probably right, though he is sent there and I am simply here.”

Nag Kath watched his complex face and said tenderly, “Then I hope you always are. If I visit every so often, perhaps I will learn your songs better.”

As a parting gift, Nag Kath drew a picture of Tom and Goldberry sitting together in thought. It was not posed. It was just how he remembered the interplay of their faces. Both declared it the finest gift ever and he would make a proper frame for it ere the day was out! 

_____________--------______________

Riding back to the East Road, Nag Kath wondered what he had learned. He felt stronger, as if the power of the couple had touched him unintentionally. No, that wasn’t it. It was more of an awareness – power in another form. He was leaving with another gift – one whose meaning had yet to reveal itself. Meeting immortals would get rarer as the Elves left for the Undying Lands. He would not get many more chances to view the world that way. As he laid-bare to Goldberry, he had yet to reconcile himself to love with those who could not follow. 

In wrapping a bow around this package, he thought the essential lesson was Tom saying that he was simply here. Was that how it must be? Did the merry soul now know so much about this small place that there was no room for the larger world? As a couple, they were like moderately well-to-do retirees still possessed of energy to enjoy themselves. It just lasted for thousands of years. He wished them well.

Bree is a market hub, almost the size of Trum Dreng though not as pretty or welcoming, perhaps because the streets were so narrow. Arriving in late-afternoon, the place was teeming with vendors and merchants and a few travelers using the last of the light. There were a fair number of Hobbits, though the quality of their clothes varied more than in the Shire. He saw several companies of Dwarves keeping to their own affairs.

A prosperous-looking inn on the high street had its own stable so he took a room for the night. Charlo would get a few carrots with his oats. Dinner, if he chose to eat it, was still a while away so Nag Kath wandered along the high street to see if there were herb or healing shops. He did not need anything but was always prepared to be surprised. 

He also tried something new. The inn was nice enough but he had cash and a few other things he wanted to keep. Nag Kath placed what he hoped was a confusion spell over his bag. The witches had done that directly to people with considerable success. Mrs. Hürna showed him how but he had not tried it on a person. Could objects be warded with confusion? He wanted anyone who got close to forget why they were there. There would be no knowing if it worked without testing it on an unsuspecting subject but it seemed worthwhile in this rough town. 

There wasn’t much to see. Dinner wasn’t bad. Taking a stroll afterwards he heard familiar music. In an open square the next block over a theater troupe was performing a Catanard. He remembered little of his first, enjoyed as an escaped prisoner, but later shows always had the same theme; a local boy and girl, hopelessly in love but not very smart, are separated by evil uncles. Each area wrote-in their own fresh gossip poking fun at local luminaries. The cast was all townsmen or women. The villains were shown the error of their ways without bloodshed and the young people would soon be married with optimistic leering from the crowd in anticipation of their nuptial night.

Nag Kath stayed until the end at a table with local folk. They left and the bench refilled with the baritone villain and his friends who had been standing closer to the stage. Verdand Vixtrous was a leather merchant during the day. The player and his friends were in good spirits after his standout performance. He guzzled the regional tan ale in-between wiping his face-paint off with a towel. 

A tall, skinny man called out, “Say, VV, you scared the widow-ladies silly!”

Triumphant VV roared, “It is the part. We bad ‘uns always get the best lines!”

Two women joined them, each carrying a full pitcher and topped off their company’s mugs before sitting. One lady cooed, “Oh darling, I am glad you are a nicer man than you play. Do not get any ideas, now!”

He kissed her to laughs and slurps round the table. Eyes fell on Nag Kath. One of the audience apologized, “Forgive us, young man. We have invaded your table and run riot.”

Nag Kath offered his un-Elvish grin and cried, “Pray do not worry, kind sir. I enjoyed the performance and offer a toast to your triumph!”

The second tenor asked, “Have you seen Catanard before?”

“Indeed I have. Twice in Minas Tirith, though I was very young the first time. And in Dol Amroth there are good singers who entertain in taverns using the same songs.” 

The baritone announced to every table nearby, “We have us a patron! Up here in the hinterlands folk do not know this music, but in the last few years, it has grown popular. I myself am from Anfalas, where every lad woos his sweetheart with the gentle Trevalid!”

Nag Kath raised his mug again and called, “Then you are well-schooled, my friend. I am especially fond of the Freron when Juvash is sure his love is lost.” In truth, it was because a sultry version of that was often used in private dancing clubs with delights to follow. His tablemates did not need to know that to proclaim Nag Kath an all-round promising young man and never let his mug get less than half full.

Commerce would come with dawn so the players wished each other well and Nag Kath returned to his inn. As he stepped on the porch, a dazed fellow wandered out the tavern door and bumped into him. Neither was knocked down and a discreet pat on his pocket said his purse was still there. Nag Kath apologized and waited for his key at the desk while the innkeeper carried empty mugs back to the kitchen.

The fellow was florid after bustling to and fro. To make conversation, Nag Kath said, “Seems the poor man just leaving had a few.” 

The innkeeper responded, “No one’s left from the bar in a while. Here’s your key, sir.”

Upstairs, the hair he pasted with spit between his door and the jamb was missing. Nag Kath turned the lock quietly and looked about the room in just quarter-moonlight. He was alone. Lighting a candle, all was where he left it. 

He would remember that spell.

_____________--------______________

Rivendell was a hundred and twenty leagues away. Traveling lightly on a good horse he made the River Hoarwell in eleven days, including waiting under shelter for a day watching a hailstorm. A few days later he reached the north road of the Angle he had taken fighting his way up the Greyflood. Nag Kath didn’t look this time but there was still a well-worn trail to Bilbo’s trolls. 

Eighteen days from Bree he led Charlo to the secret passages into the Imladris Valley. The horse was not as comfortable on the ledges as Regalid. Gladly on wider ground, Nag Kath tied him to the post in front of Elrond’s former quarters and climbed the stairs to the library. If there were any Elves here, they were laying low. He checked a few book spines recalled from nine years ago and went out the back looking for keepers.

They were not in plain sight either. Barging into their quarters he saw one couple he remembered as the Grellars and greeted them. In their fashion, Mr. Grellar uttered a high-pitched nasal, “Hmmmmm. Good day. Can’t say I remember you.”

“I am Nag Kath and I was here nine years ago. Logass will stand for me.”

“Oh yes, Orc Six! Logass is back in Lorien, or is it Gondolin? Just two Elf-keepers here now, and our wives, of course.”

Nag Kath tried to salvage the situation, “I hope we will still sing songs and tales of old. I know a few more.”

“Hmmmmm, I suppose so. Mrs. Grellar will see to your rooms. He nodded to the plump, hook-nosed gnome watching from the kitchen. She came out and said, “It is nice to see you again, Mr. Six. If you will come with me.”

This time he stayed in Elvish quarters. It was still nice and would have been exquisite before folk stopped waxing the woodwork. High summer felt like fall for all the leaves trapped in windless walks and nooks. 

Mrs. Grellar was chattier than her husband. He gleaned from her that they had not seen any Elves since him. Travelers before that were headed for the Grey Havens after snuffing out the candles in Lorien. Nag Kath didn’t mind sleeping in a full-sized bed but he didn’t want to be fed alone so he insinuated himself into the evening meal by saying, “Is dinner served in your hall at the usual time, Mrs. Grellar?”

“Why yes, Mr. Six. We are having trout tonight.”

Charlo had already been taken to the stable. His bags were leaning against the hitch post. Nag Kath fetched them back up to the library and claimed two tables for his studies. He calculated it would take two weeks to leisurely reread what he failed to grasp of magic and healing last time. There was no time like the present so he started with the creation of the orcs.

Meals were more sedate. Grellar was considered a boring storyteller among the Elf-keepers. Houk was better but only knew a few. Their women did not participate. With Nag Kath present, the couples made a good show but evidently the Elf had caught high-season for lore the last time while the keepers were met for a moot of all those in Middle-earth. No other Elves arrived. He covered the lore sooner than expected and was headed for the High Pass in ten days with two pounds of real Lembas. 

In Rosghobel, Nag Kath waited in the same clearing for a week to see if Radagast might appear. He did not. Nag Kath did not get a sense of his presence either. That sense was better honed than last time. The changeling would have liked the wizard’s views on Tom and Goldberry. The Forest Road continued to improve with use but the Elf trail would have still been invisible if he hadn’t remembered the large rock forty paces from the turn.

One approaches the Elven Halls noisily. Charlo was a fairly loud horse but Nag Kath removed some of the padding from his tack for extra jingling. Sure enough, a pair of the brown and green-clad dark Elves walked in front of him in a clearing with another pair nocking their arrows in the brush. The taller of the two said in Silvan, “What business brings you here, friend?”

In Sindarin Nag Kath called, “Forgive me, brother. I do not know that tongue well. I have come to pay my respects to Fearnold and other friends in these lands.”

“You appear to know the way,” this time said in Sindarin. “We will escort you.”

They traveled another hour to the great halls with few words exchanged. His guard walked him to the doors after tying Charlo and spoke with the interior guard. That fellow nodded and gestured for Nag Kath to follow.

The place hadn’t changed. The Sylvan Elves preferred life outdoors. There were still offices and storerooms here but this was not a hive of courtly activity like in the days of Thranduil. His ohtar told him to stay in a corridor and returned shortly with Fearnold. The chiseled Elf smiled and said, “Welcome back, Nag Kath. I thought you might have taken the ship.”

“Too crowded, Lord Fearnold. I like elbow room.”

“I hold the same view.” The Elf Lord led him into the central lobby which still had plenty of folks busy preparing for whatever was next. Fearnold asked, “Are you staying long?”

“Nay, sir. Just to say hello and take the short-cut around the Great River.”

“There is plenty of room in the west wing. Join us for dinner and share tidings of the wider world.” The meal was pleasant. Nag Kath spoke of Rivendell and asked if Lorien was empty as well. Not at all! Sylvan Elves had stayed there too. It being so close, they met occasionally. Both were Moriquendi, in this case Nandor Elves who did not answer the call of light in the Undying Lands. Their purpose and future were very much the same.


	14. Old Ground

**_Chapter 14_ **

**_Old Ground_ **

Dale seemed warm and familiar. It was up in the world too, at least, someone had painted the storefronts. Nag Kath walked Charlo through the dock market as folk hurried to finish their business for the day. Even more than Osgiliath, there was always a confusion of languages, often spoken at the top of someone’s voice. People looked at him but he didn’t see anyone he knew.

His house had a new coat of paint too. It was locked and no one answered the knocker so he made his way up the hill to Brenen’s new home. It was a large, two-story with balconies on the upper floors and a sizeable personal garden. He clicked along the flagstones and rapped on the door.

Hebrel must have retired because a younger steward opened the door and smiled before hearing, “Good day. I am Nag Kath to see Brenen. I believe I am expected.”

“Of course, Mr. Kath. Please come inside.”

The entryway opened into a spacious, main room with large windows on three sides. The steward said he was welcome to have a seat and would let Mr. Fal know he was here. Nag Kath remained standing expecting the bear-hug he got moments later when his old protégé bounded from a hallway. Released, Brenen stepped back and said, “It is good to see you, my friend. I wasn’t expecting you for another month.”

“Things went my way with the usual assortment of strange stories. How are you?”

Brenen was much rounder than in F.A. 20. When the creator Ilúvatar imagined Northmen, it was not eating three squares a day and living in a heated home. Now in his mid-forties, Bren's hair was still full with a trimmed beard showing a little gray. The robust Dale businessman said, “I am just fine. By the stars, it is good to see you. Let us have some introductions.”

The man walked back down the hallway and reemerged with an assortment of relatives. All bowed to him except Brenen’s wife Nedille who ran over for a kiss. “Oh dear Nag Kath. Welcome home.” She turned and said, “You remember Renelda, don’t you?”

“I do indeed. Hello Bugs.” 

A tall woman in her mid-twenties came forward and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Welcome home, Uncle Nag. This is my brood.” She wagged her hand to bring two children forth from the hall jamb. “Children, this is Uncle Nag. Nag Kath, these are Aleurn,” pointing to a seven-year old girl who looked just her mother, “and this is Brenald.” That was for a four-year old boy who stood with his arms crossed, no doubt because this stranger was getting all of his attention.

Nag Kath walked to them and offered his hand. The girl took it with a smile and a curtsy. The little boy wasn’t sure what this meant. He glanced at his grand-da who mimed shaking. The youngster offered his little hand as if to a dragon. Nag Kath took it gently and looked him in the eye. “Glad to meet you, young man.”

That brought a giggle, though the tyke rubbed his hands together as if to remove whatever they had touched. Brenen said, “Renelda and Luther are staying here until their new place is finished. Have you been home yet?”

“I stopped by but it was locked.”

Brenen thought this was a good time to catch-up so he pronounced, “Dear, we’re going to walk down to Nag’s house.” Looking at Nag Kath, “You’ll come for dinner, of course?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” Brenen rummaged through a drawer full of keys with little string-tags and dropped one in his vest pocket. Taking a gentleman’s cane and his hat from the stand by the front door, Brenen gestured for his guest to go first. 

Charlo was not used to cobblestones so walking with Brenen was a good way to get the Lossarnach horse used to the slight slip and catch. Brenen asked, “Are you just back?”

“Yes, I came home and then went to your place straight away. You have a lovely house.”

“Thank you. We like it. It has come in handy with extra room for family. I’ve got five grandkids now and another on the way. Life had been very good, Nag. I owe you a great deal.”

“You earned it, my friend. I suppose I’ll need to ask you a thousand questions about how everyone is doing since I’ve been gone, starting with your mother.”

“She is strong. Her husband died three, is it three, yes, three years ago. Nedille and I are talking about buying the little house just to our left for her. The big place is too much now. I am fortunate. They get on well so it will be good to have her close. She can keep an eye on the little ones too.”

Brenen hopped a pot hole and continued, “I suppose I should ask; will you be here a while?”

“I plan to be. I’ll always leave for stretches but I think close for a year or two. Before fall I’ll make for the Buhr, though. I’ve been getting regular letters from Ardatha too. Working down the list, how are the King and Queen?”

“I only see them once or twice a year. She is always the picture of health. King Bard is not doing well. He is sixty four, something like that, and is rumored to have trouble with his heart. Friends in high places say he seldom stands or meets people for more than half an hour without rest. The Thainmoot has been postponed a year. Now, their son Bain is a man-grown and by all accounts, a worthy successor. I like him.”

Nag Kath said, “I will send them a note now that I am back. Rosscranith too, though I saw him until he left Minas Tirith, when, a couple years ago. He’s a good ‘un. Tell me of the Brightens brothers.”

“Fit as fiddles! No one has Syndolan Eve parties like we used to throw, but they can be counted on as quality guests. Still live in the same place.”

“I’ll wander around and see everyone. How about Moaan?” Brenen pulled a blank. “Miss Quessan, the healer?”

“Oh, no idea. Haven’t seen her in years.”

They arrived at Nag Kath’s house. Brenen played with the lock while the Elf took his packs off Charlo. Inside was just like he left it. Brenen said, “An older couple works for the company. They clean and care for a dozen places. Calather still does the fixing-up. Gave the outside a coat of stain last year.” Brenen walked into the middle of the large room and turned in a circle. “I haven’t been here since you left. Do I need to get you a cook?”

“Good idea, though it will be hard to find someone as good as your ma.”

“Bard’s wife knows everyone. We should stop at the office on the way back so you can say hello.”

Nag Kath nodded and walked around the room. Then he bounded up the stairs to the bedrooms and storage area. All his drawings and paintings were there, covered by a sheet. He would thumb through them at leisure. Returning to the man he considered a son, he put his arm around his shoulder. 

There being nothing else to do there for now, Brenen locked-up, handed Nag Kath the key as they walked outside. Brenen said, “Stable’s still there. Want to see to this handsome fellow?” Charlo was left with promises of evening oats and the two friends walked west a few blocks to the office of Kathen Properties. Brenen’s cousin Bard had managed the day-to-day operations since before Nag Kath left. 

Bard gave the Elf a hug no less grand than Brenen. Unlike his stout cousin, Bard had kept his figure and remained a handsome man. It was Bard who introduced the two partners. It seemed their shares of Kathen had done well. His wife Ros was in the little kitchen making a pot of tea when she heard the commotion and came out for a kiss. Their son was with the building crew. One daughter married the heir of the Chandler’s Guild elector and the younger girl still lived at home.

Since tea was ready, Rosalin fetched it along with a little pot of honey in the local tradition. As Brenen had done, Bard asked, “Are you back for a while, Nag?”

“It seems so. I did a large building project for King Aragorn and Prince Faramir in Gondor. That went well. Alas, my marriage did not, but now I am free as a bird.”

Rosalin, always a cheerful and never timid woman asked, “Are you still a sorcerer?”

Nag Kath grinned and said, “Worse than ever, I fear. And I’ve met even more dangerous types in my travels. Please, though, let us keep that to ourselves. For now, I am just Uncle Nag the peculiar Half-Elven. I will tell you this; I got a supply of Gandalf’s firework powders in Orthanc. If I can figure-out how to use them without burning down the house, we will have a Syndolan Eve party in the old style!”

Everyone thought that a capital idea. Brenen asked Rosalin to send someone round about cooking and keeping Nag Kath’s household. Two women came to mind who were either available or might be looking for a change of scenery. The Elf asked her to mention that his habits were irregular.

_____________--------______________

At dinner, Brenen had already told Nedille to leave mention of magic to Uncle Nag. They had plenty of other things to discuss. If you could imagine, she was on the flower committee, knowing full-well the unlikely turn of events that brought the Elf to the royal family. Their home was not in the most stylish part of Dale but they were among the wealthier folk in the city. His third of the troll-hoard alone put him halfway there. Nag Kath’s gift of as much and a lifetime of shrewd decisions made the unassuming dock-rat a man of substance. Nag Kath insisting Brenen earn an officer’s commission helped overcome his humble beginnings. The portly Northman still rolled out with the reserves every autumn to plink arrows at straw-men, followed by a single pint of tan.

Quite out of the blue, Brenen asked, “Nag, have you thought to your other holdings here?”

“Hmmmm? You’ve got those now.”

“Not all. You gave us Kathen Properties, but you still own a half a dozen outright.”

“I had no idea. Really?”

“Indeed. Some of it is just land outside the gates but you’ve got two shop buildings and a couple apartments in the Slattery district, not to mention the Mason’s Guild Hall. They’ve been trying to buy that for years. We mind them the same as all the rest.”

“Well, thank you. I’ve still got money in the bank here and similar operations in Minas Tirith and Osgiliath. The man on the river was my southern Brenen. Younger and shorter. You’d like him. Now Nedille, tell me about the children.”

She explained the fortunes of the three not there. Turenon was at a repair site when his da and Uncle Nag visited. Brenen and Nag Kath agreed years ago that even though he was an honorary grandfather, his eternal youth would eventually be confusing. Uncles can come in all ages.

Second son Gerrulth became a jeweler. Brenen and Nedille didn’t mind. Nag Kath had told them of Mr. Tallazh’s difficulty of finding room for everyone and it wasn’t like the young man needed the income. Nedille and Renelda were each wearing one of his broaches and it was beautiful work. Ardathlin, named in honor of Nag Kath’s other family, had married a handsome Lieutenant in the King’s guard and told her mother last week that another grandbaby might be in the offing. Renelda had outgrown the nickname Bugs long ago. She was a beauty.

As was his lifetime habit, Brenen only sipped at a single goblet of wine during the meal. Nag Kath might ask him about his long-lost da in a private moment. No ... maybe not. The Elf was off before the sun was gone but would stop by the office in a day or two.

_____________--------______________

Back home by lamplight, Eniece poured on him like rain. This was their home, every inch of it. There had been enough time to accept that she would always be with him. And after Flor, it was nice to remember further back.

Nag Kath’s breakfast was the last of his Lembas and water from the canteen. No sooner had he wiped his lips than there was a knock at the door. He put her at about thirty-three, dressed in brown homespun with a pug nose and freckles but still an attractive woman. She looked up at the looming Elf and said cheerfully, “Rosalin said you’s looking for someone.”

He swung the door open and she walked in looking around the large main room saying, “I’m Tella Rancasth. Do some cooking and cleaning.”

Her being here meant excellent references. Nag Kath held his chin, as all good decision-makers do, and asked, “What sorts of households have you served, Tella?”

“Mostly families with young ‘uns, Mr. Kath.

Did Ros tell you I don’t eat meat?”

She shook her head and said, “No. But I can cook other things. Do you eat fish?”

“I do.”

“I make a right proper fish stew or can bake it if you have the right kind of oven.”

Miss Rancasth, he guessed ‘miss’ since she was not wearing a wedding band, stood gazing about the home. Wondering what else Rosalin hadn’t mentioned he asked, “Did Ros tell you of my other needs?”

The woman gulped in resignation, dropped to her knees and began unbuttoning his trouser fly. Nag Kath stepped back, “She didn’t tell you that!”

Miss Rancasth looked up in shock and bleated, “I’m sorry, Mr. Kath. No sir, but I know what it takes for a girl to get a job with a gentleman, well, some of them.”

Trying not to break into his largest grin, the Elf said sternly, “That will not be required here, Miss Rancasth. No need to mention this to Ros, either, eh?” Still kneeling, she gulped again and nodded. Nag Kath offered his hand to help her rise and pulled two silvers from his vest. “You’re hired. There’s probably nothing in the pantry. Get what you need. Can you read?” 

She gave an unconvincing shrug, “A little, Mr. Kath.”

I’ll make out a list of other things shortly. Here’s your room …”

_____________--------______________

It wasn’t until he was on his way to the stable that he had a good laugh. That was not so funny. Men took advantage. He saw the world differently, but he knew he was naïve. 

Charlo seemed to like his new situation. There were two mares and a cart-pony in the stalls next to him. The stableman’s son remembered Regalid and was just as impressed with the new horse. Nag Kath took him out the gate and made the two hour ride to Lake Town.

There was new paint here too. He climbed the steps to the Borenne business and saw the fellow who reminded him so much of a young Mr. Tallazh thirty years ago. Now he reminded him of an old Mr. Tallazh. The man recognized him immediately and said, “Welcome back, Mr. Kath. Mrs. Borenne doesn’t come in much but I would be glad to take you to her home.”

The clerk called into the back to have someone watch the door and walked into the sun. Nag Kath said, “Thank you, Mr. Jemeneth. I hope you have been well.”

“Indeed, sir. I have been buying the business for some time. We are having a good year.”

“The family has been well served.”

Eniece’s mother’s home was only three buildings over. Nag Kath hoped this would not be too much of a surprise. He asked Ardatha to mention his return to the old lady but mail is never reliable. Mr. Jemeneth rapped the brass knocker three times and took his leave.

A gaunt woman wearing gray opened the door and peered up at the Elf. He said, “Good morning, Miss Urnn.”

She blinked a few times, knowing she knew who he was but not sure of the name and said, “Please come in, sir.”

Helping her memory, “If you could tell Mrs. Borenne that Nag Kath has come to call?” 

Comprehension appeared on her face and she hurried to inform her mistress. Mrs. Borenne came out a minute later and offered her hand for a kiss. She was eighty if she was a day but still had the regal poise and beauty Eniece inherited. Graciously she said, “Ardatha told me you were coming. How nice of you to visit.”

“It is my pleasure ma’am. Your grand-daughter has been a good correspondent.”

She motioned to a pair of comfortable chairs saying, “Please, Nag Kath. Would you like tea?”

That wasn’t even out of her mouth when Miss Urnn appeared with a tray, cups, a steaming pot and honey. He sat down and waited until his hostess was comfortable.

Mrs. Borenne seemed at peace. Her husband died not long after their dear daughter. She threw herself into longtime interests and with the help of many friends still lived a full life. Nag Kath had missed her. They spoke for almost two hours and he left with promises to return often. Mrs. Borenne got teary as he rose, remembering how much Eniece loved him and how he had helped her blossom. He was a dear soul.

Nearly dusk getting back, Nag Kath dropped by the studio of Master Golord. A new Dwarf opened the complex door and asked as brusquely as only a Dwarf can for the pointy-eared pale one to state his business.

“I am Nag Kath come to pay my respects to Master Golord.”

“He is no doubt busy.”

In the Elf Lord voice he saved for special occasions, “As are we all, Ghazd (Khuzdun for youngster).” His Dwarvish was poor since they always spoke good Westron, but he knew enough to make a point.

The Dwarf gave him a wide-eyed up-and-down before saying, “Wait here.”

It did not take long. The Master came back with the junior fellow, which validated the youngster’s decision to interrupt him. “Nag Kath, you old devil! I wondered if you would ever knock on my door again!”

“Wild horses could not keep me away, Master Dwarf.”

“Come in, come in! This is Wallord who I hope can find us some tea.” Hint taken, the shortbeard hurried as much as Dwarves can do indoors towards a dark hallway. They walked back to the studio and took the same seats they had years ago. “So, tell me of your travels Mr. Kath.”

The young Dwarf was instantly there with tea which was too hot just now. Nag Kath let it cool and said, “Of interest to Durin’s people, I have spent considerable time with Dwarves of the Glittering Caves. Engineer Thurgin consulted and Lord Gimli got his groats in too.”

“I have heard about this; a long water pipe like the one to the palace pool.”

With pride Nag Kath said, “Yes, we named the chute from the mountain the Gimli Cascade. It shines different colors of light like a rainbow depending on the sun.”

Hardly meaning it Master Golord muttered, “I need to get abroad more.”

In the event he actually might, Nag Kath encouraged him, “It is not that far if you take the Great River Road and avoid the Gladden bogs. I’ll wager you have caravans down there all the time.”

“Indeed. My cousin Urald trades there. Thorbar was with those who settled the caves.” Dwarves have endless cousins. Any relation, no matter how distant, is awarded that honor as long as their reputations are relatively clean.

Nag Kath paid the Master a tribute, “I use your little knife often and think of its craft every time. It has received many compliments. I still have the test knife too.”

“I thank you for that. Men learned of our work and came for pieces of their own, albeit it without bringing their own mithril. Don’t suppose you’ve come across any more of that?”

“Just the little piece. That was from a troll-hoard. Thankfully, they were well past asking.”

“Never hurts to try.”

“If you will excuse me, Master Dwarf, I am newly back and must see to errands. I am just here to hope we can bend our elbows with malt beer at leisure.”

“I will see you then my friend.”

_____________--------______________

Nag Kath walked to a soldiers’ tavern near the palace gate and asked if anyone had seen Sergeant Burry when he ordered his pie. The old archer still came in a night or so a week. Nag Kath left a hefty tip and asked that the Sergeant be told his old student was in town. If that didn’t work, Nag Kath would stop by the home.

Back at the house, Miss Rancasth had already been shopping and was now rearranging the kitchen with a vengeance. She did not seem self-conscious about her employment interview when she asked where he wanted the towels stored. Hopefully that was water over the dam. Nag Kath wrote out a list of foods, household items and sundries Tella would not know to get. 

Then he watched her read it. She studied it with the kind of frown unlettered folks use but then asked if Mr. Kath wanted the red or green peppers. So she could read well enough, and she should get some of each.

He had other writing to do:

**_My Lord King and Lady Queen,_ **

**_I hope the Valar have smiled on you and your family._ **

**_I am just returned from Gondor and will be staying here for some time. If I can be of service, I am at your call. For what it is worth, I have a small measure of ending for the health concern of our Lady Queen so long ago._ **

**_With humility, Nag Kath_ **

Folded and sealed, Nag Kath realized he needed another lad to run errands as he walked to the palace gate and handed the note to a sentry along with a second for Lord Rosscranith.

The next morning there was business to handle. Nag Kath walked west to the Royal Bank of Dale and asked to see his balance statement. It took some time to confirm he was who he said he was by signing his name for comparison. Finally, old Mr. Colas, who was blind as a mole but as sharp as ever, was located upstairs. He walked down and said, “Good day, Mr. Kath. It is a pleasure to see you again.” What he could see was debatable, but none of the junior clerks would gainsay him. His account was worth one hundred twenty two Florin, including the interest. His rental account had another thirty plus four silvers. Nag Kath didn’t need any of it but he did change the name on the little one to his charity trust. The Elf wished everyone well and made his way to the Hobbits’ home.

Lotold answered the door and beamed with his arms wide. You understand that is not wide in the relative scheme of things, but he meant it as strongly as any Northman. Rather than have the Elf smack his head on the ceiling, Lotold collected Lorens from the kitchen and they all walked outside to the patio. Their wives were shopping but Lotold’s oldest son joined them. Nag Kath said, “It was on this porch that we first met all those years ago.”

Lorens agreed, “Indeed it was. Uncle Stifo was here and cantankerous as could be. Are you home for a while, Nag Kath?”

He called it home. Was it? Nag Kath thought he might now have two homes because there were people in both that loved him. He also thought he would never stay anywhere very long as his powers increased. “I think a year or two, Lorens. That is no guarantee but it feels about right.”

Lotold bore in, “You must tell us all about your adventures. We haven’t been any further than Esgaroth since you left.”

“I do have some Hobbit news. A couple months ago I visited the Shire with King Elessar. It was the only way to get in. There I met Sam, Pip and Merry. I thought it went rather well, considering I was one of the Uruks chasing them. And I have been much in the company of the Dwarf Gimli so that only leaves the Elf Legolas to meet of the surviving Fellowship of the Ring.”

Lotold thought first and queried, “Odd; that. I should have thought he would be the easiest to find.”

“I am not sure he wants to be found. I will be in Middle-earth for the foreseeable future and the first ale will be on me if he knocks.”

Lorens stated for the record, “You must excuse us, Nag Kath. Our wives have decided that alcoholic beverages are not to be served before the five-bell, for reasons of health.”

Lotold rejoined, “Horsefeathers! Here we have the world famous Nag Kath come to visit and we cannot even wet his whistle! We have our reputations as hosts to consider!”

“Quite right, brother. We should not set a bad precedent. May we offer you a libation to take the edge off your hard travel?”

Nag Kath pretended to consider their local standing before agreeing to a half-pint. After draining it he promised to organize a dinner when he found a cook. He had one, but wouldn’t subject friends to her meals until he had tried one himself.

That meal was still a couple hours away so Nag Kath walked to the healing and herb district. Of all the places so far, these buildings had seen the least improvement. Signs were painted and sidewalks swept but it still looked like a place people went to die.

He pushed his hair over his ears and entered a shop that probably would not offer magical cures. He was sure when a plump proprietress cheerfully asked him how she could help. He said with his most charming smile, “I am trying to find a healer known here long ago called Moann Quessan. Before your time, I am sure.”

The woman sized him up for other than medicinal purposes and said, “Never heard of her. What do you need, young fellow?”

“She was a midwife who helped me into Dale thirty years ago. I thought she might still be available for a new generation.” A Magister could argue that statement was technically true, even if completely misleading.

Since he was obviously spoken-for, she offered, “Three doors east, cross the street. Old lady named Bolaris. She might go back far enough.”

Miss, and she would have you know it was Miss, Bolaris was having cold tea in her back room when the bell above the door rang unexpectedly. The elderly herbalist limped into her showroom and appraised the tall young man waiting for help. She was polite enough, “How can I assist, young sir?”

“I am looking for Miss Quessan.”

More annoyed than suspicious the lady stated, “You’ve got the wrong shop. It is just me here.”

Nag Kath walked to the counter and placed a silver down so it snapped on the surface. He looked at it for a moment and then said, “We are old friends.”

She grumbled, “Old friends stay in touch.”

He leaned towards her with, “Are you old friends?”

Oh, this was terrible! That silver would cover this and last month’s rent with a pork roast to boot! But Moaan was a good person and this could not possibly be to her benefit. Nag Kath knew he struck gold. In a gentler voice he said, “You don’t have to tell me where she is. If you are a friend, she probably mentioned me when she moved up the hill. You keep that silver and ask her if she remembers me. If so, I am at my old house again. Good day, ma’am.” 

He whistled the Orthanc trail song on the way home.

_____________--------______________

His house smelled wonderful. Tella Rancasth could cook. As spelled, her name was pronounced with a lisp but no one had put the “h” on the end in her lifetime.

They had baked fish and he let her sit at table with him, the first time that had ever happened for her. She was sure permission was meal-by-meal but he seemed nice enough. Ros had not given her the details of his diet or private needs but she did say he was more than he appeared. He appeared very handsome and her thoughts drifted during dinner.

That night, Nag Kath was visited by dreams much like at the house of Tom Bombadil and Goldberry. It was a call of longing and care but also of satisfaction. What was the Vala Irmo telling him? In his mindful rest, he acknowledged it and let it pass to clear his thoughts. The next morning he was refreshed and ready for more exploring. 

Tella found some fresh eggs and loaves at the market yesterday. It would take her another day or two to let the yeast rise to make her own bread. She seemed very refreshed and cheerful too. Nag Kath did not intend to make for Buhr Austar for another month but it paid to learn of the routes in advance. He rode Charlo down to the royal stables. These were escort facilities for when Bard left the city. That wasn’t often these days.

Charlo was the bait. He could have just walked down but parading one of King Elessar’s stallions past their own handsome mounts put Nag Kath in the category of those who get information first. He also had Tella sew his Dale cavalry reserve-Captain’s gorget on his lapel, hoping it wasn’t six years out of date.

Sure enough, Charlo brought a crowd. Unlike most horses, Lossarnach bred animals had a tattoo stamped in their ear rather than a burned brand on the flank. It still hurt the poor little foals terribly, but much less than fire. A hardened sergeant said, “Fine mount. Are you new to Dale?”

Nag Kath turned so the sergeant could see his officer’s insignia and replied, “I have been away for a while and thought I would take him over the charging lanes.”

“Very good, sir.”

“No need for that Sarge. We are all just folk in the summer. You might help me though. I make for Buhr Austar this fall and am too recently returned to know the road. What news of either way?”

Since the blonde lad, certainly a rich man’s son, said they were off-parade, the sarge spit something brown and whistled for a corporal who was carrying a saddle to the tack room. “Capt’n said he’s heading to the Buhrs this fall. How was the Dwarf Road last month?”

The corporal held his unusually shaved chin before saying, “Fine. It was dry. No ruffians reported, even by two or three-wagon teams. Not much forage though, and there’ll be less then.” He looked at Charlo, “Best bring your own oats Sir.”

The Elf said, “Thank you gents. I’m sure I’ll see you again.”

Sarge drawled, “Well, let us talk about that. My Captain would be sore interested in this fellow.” He gave the horse a muzzle-scratch.

“That is reasonable enough. He is Charlo and he is from King Elessar’s stud in Lossarnach, below Minas Tirith. I am told he is mostly Rohirric stock with some of the faster Gondor lines from light cavalry. He dearly loves to run.”

Another spit, “I don’t suppose he would be interested in parenthood?”

That brought a grin and memories of Regalid’s surreptitious romance in Helm’s Deep. “I wouldn’t mind and I’m sure he would approve.” Nag Kath took one of the cards he wrote the night before from his vest and handed it to the Sergeant saying, “I should be easy to find.”

Both sides thought that a fair exchange. Nag Kath took Charlo out to the farm roads between the millet fields for exercise before riding back to the block stable. Then he walked to the Kathen office. Bard was there with his son going over a new wall one of the tenants needed for their store. Barthanid was just a boy the last time Nag Kath saw him. Bart was seventeen now and would be a prize when the right girl set her sights on him.

They made polite conversation until Bart excused himself to visit the Woodworker’s Guild. Bard shared Brenen’s aversion to alcohol so they had cool tea which Ros made by the gallon. Nag Kath kicked his feet up on the chair next to him and said, “Looks like you and yours are in tall barley, Bard.”

“Aye, Nag. Bren and I could retire anytime. Our boys are near ready to take the reins, good ‘uns both, older than we were. I’ve got hobbies but I’m not sure what Bren would do with his time. I wish he would take more exercise. You notice that little shuffle in his walk?”

“I did. My healing powers are stronger now, but there isn’t much anyone can do for the knife and spoon.”

Bard took a long pull of tea and said, “Aleurn, his mother Aleurn, will move below them when we make a deal on that brown house. Bren and Nedille mostly mind the grandkids. Did he tell you there’s another on the way?”

“Rumors.”

“That will put him at six and counting. Aleurn loves them silly. If she is closer, maybe Bren and Nedille can travel a bit, though I’m sure he hasn’t been on a horse since Vandery died. What’s that, twenty years ago?”

Nag Kath smiled after his own swig, “Almost. Course, getting the ladies on a horse is the tricky part. Can Nedille ride?”

“Just a man-cart. They’re all over modern Dale ... run over your foot if you don’t step lively. They have their own Guild now.”

“I saw. I’m a little surprised he hasn’t visited Ardatha.”

“No need. She is here every other year for the Thainmoot, mostly to see her granna – always stops by. Her young ’uns are teenagers and the oldest bore her two grandbabes for good measure. Old Thain Conath doesn’t make the trip anymore. His oldest steers the boat now.”

“We stay in touch. Conath has two fine sons. Good soldiers. How about Bart, is he a man-of-arms?”

“A better archer than either his da or uncle, if I say so myself. You taught him and Burry let him train after harvest. Fair rider too.” 

“Oh, good. I stopped by Burry’s watering hole to leave word.”

Bard thought fondly of the tough old sarge and said, “He is the same as ever and still quick on his feet. Heard tell a hill brat gave him lip at last year’s training and got some stitches for his sass.”

“I’ll wager that is a story to go with a pitcher of tan.”

“You’ll get no takers. I expect you can still pin a fly at fifty paces.”

“Probably. See here, Bard. I’m settling in and will be here a season or two at least. Let us conspire to get Bren on a swayback nag and ride a stone off him. In the meantime, he told me I still have property. I don’t remember which ones. Suppose I should pop round for a look.”

One was a building with four nice apartments just below the Cheesemakers’ district. Another was less inviting down by the docks. Urchins were playing in a horse trough in front. The two shop buildings were side-by-side near the boatwrights. Both were leased and seemed to be doing good trade. Nag Kath didn’t enter either. His policy was still to keep a low profile. There was no need to see the Mason’s Guild. Everyone knew where that was.

The ground outside was near the Erebor Gate close by Master Golord’s compound. The Long Road Inn seemed to be doing business. No matter. If the men who ran Kathen Properties wanted to keep it, who was he to say otherwise?

Tella made vegetable pies for dinner. His was delicious. With his Elvish appetite he only finished half and let his proud cook know it wasn’t her recipe. She said she would make smaller ones. After dark Nag Kath put an oil lamp on either side of his table and brought a handful of his old drawings downstairs to look. They weren’t as good as he remembered but were now his own version of the Red Book of Westmarch. A pile of newer pictures from the trip north went into empty hanging files.

That night he was again visited by dreams of longing and release. This time they lingered. He pulled out of his meditation and realized it wasn’t a dream at all. Those were noises in his house. Nag Kath crept down the stairs and heard Tella pleasuring herself. It was so quiet that a human would never hear. To Elf ears, it was plain as day.

He smiled and went back to his room. Shutting the door he found deep rest difficult. Proper Elves had training to block distractions along with controlling their own impulses. He had neither skill and it had been a long time since bedding Flor. Putting his pillow over his head didn’t work. Humming Tom Bombadil songs under the pillow didn’t work. His choices were to tell her to stop or wait until he was not home, dismissing her or finding her a man. Looking down, his body suggested another option but that would cause more trouble than it solved.

She was her usually sunny self while serving the morning omelet. He was more reserved. The bought-bread was fine but Tella assured him they would have their own tonight. There was a loud knock at the door. Nag Kath had been handing out invitations for the last two days so it could be anyone, but that was a soldier’s knock for sure.

Standing at the door was grizzled old Burry. He had lost some weight, in a good way, and was as formidable as ever. Burry gripped his hand in the greeting of Northmen as he stamped inside. The Master Archer knew the house well and found a chair without being told. The Elf asked his amorous cook, “Do we still have tea?”

There was plenty and she bustled off to fetch a mug and honey pot. Burry stared at the tall ceiling and said, “I got an ale last night and they told me you had been round. No name, but no one else fits your description. Been back long?”

“Good to see you, Burr. Just a few days. The place hasn’t changed.”

“Times are good. Nobody walks no more.”

Nag Kath wondered, “Man-carts?”

“All over, they are. One of them ran into Corporal Dungan last month and then the dougsh sassed him for standing in the road. Well, you know Dungan. That may stand as the city record for how far you can fling one of those things from a battlement.”

“I hope it was empty!”

Burry laughed, “Aye, at least it was when it landed.”

“Are you still stalking the keep?”

The old soldier said without rancor, “Four years ago they culled the bull elks. I still teach the militia for a few coppers but I’m retired now. Saved my pay, kept a few of your coins and we bought the apartment above ours. Now the rent pays for our food and I wrestle the bairns. Oh, and Lola sends her best.”

Nag Kath said, “I haven’t been upstairs (the nickname for inside the palace walls) but there aren't as many men in the turrets.”

“Getting soft, we are! Thirty years without a good war will do that. The men up there are professionals, but I shudder to think of breaking out of Erebor with journeymen glassblowers to the fore. That would be a proper goat’s breakfast!”

The Elf thought the same. “Though I understand Bart, son of Bard is a fair hand.”  
  
“A good ‘un. He’s got your eye. He’d better be sure he isn’t ordered to lead light cavalry into spears by some hill brat. Probably won’t come to that. Easterlings are farmers now.” He leaned forward more seriously, “Heard tell some of their hard men are itching for empire again. That’s fine as long as they stay on their side of the river.”

Tella came up to them and curtsied before saying, “Excuse me, Mr. Kath. I’ll just get to the market now.”

He said, “That’s fine. Oh, Tella, this is my old friend Burry who taught me archery. He’s welcome anytime. Burr this is Tella.”

The big man said he was pleased to meet her and gave her an extra look as she sashayed to the door. “Nag, you do seem to find them.”

“Just met her. Bard’s wife sent her down to cook. How’s your brood?”

“Towing the line, they are. My middle boy is having a rough patch. His wife divorced him and he’s mooning about like a calf.”

Nag Kath pondered, “Divorce is not easy here.”

“Just long. She wrote the petition a year ago and it was proclaimed in May. He’s staying with us now since her da owned the house.”

“No kids?”

“Nay, that was the problem.” Burry leaned forward again, “Between us, she did not care for the marriage bed. He’s a normal man and wants a family. It is probably for the best.”

Oh, thank you old Burr, solver of riddles. This might not rank up there with preventing Bard’s assassination, but as a scheme, it was perfect in its simplicity. “Burry, can you do me a favor?”

“Sure.”

“I am going to send Tella by your house this afternoon to get the Arrow of Dulnach. It has sentimental value to me.”

“The arrow of what?”

“It’s the rankest turkey-quill target-shaft you have to scrape your boots. What matters is that your love-sick boy is the one who gets it for her, might even ask her inside while you look. Understand?”

Nobody’s fool; Burry grinned to rival Nag Kath and recalled, “I have just the one. You might give her the evening off, being as you’re visiting one of your lordly friends for dinner, unexpected like.”

“Must have slipped my mind.” 

Not much happened for a few days. Nag Kath found time to get fitted to replace the dress-clothing he left in the White City. He went fishing at the Chairn Stream towards Erebor, wondering what would bite at venison soaked in barley spirits. The trout liked hooks bound with green and red thread and he brought them home to be cooked by his tired servant.

While he was out, a sealed note arrived by a messenger in livery. That was Rosscranith’s ring or he was a fool. He should come up to the man’s house tomorrow after dinner for a goblet of Dorwinion. It did not have the usual excuse printed at the bottom for regrets.

Nag Kath wore the best he had and gave his name to the sentry at the main gate. There was no confusion. The Corporal pushed the gate and made sure the visitor knew how to get there. Journa opened the door herself and welcomed him inside. They had entertained another couple for dinner but cleared them out after a decent interval so the Lord Colonel and Elf could talk.

Rosscranith walked out of the kitchen with a cup in his hand, said hello and went back for another. The two arranged themselves in comfortable chairs as the lady of the house excused herself. Without a word, Rosscranith raised his cup. Nag Kath did the same. The man had always reminded him of Captain Marchand. He was what good men aspired to be.

“Welcome back, Nag Kath. Congratulations on the aqueduct.”

“Good to be back. It actually works! It is nice to know men can still build great things. You’ve been back what, two years now?”

“Almost. We liked Minas Tirith. Despite the distance, it is more like here than anywhere in-between. That was my last posting. I am retired now, except for consulting.”

This was cordial but not a social call. Nag Kath hinted, “A bird told me things go ill with the King.”

“His heart. He can’t get his wind. He waves from the window on holidays but Bain controls the army. The son is good, a bit like his grand-da, leading from the front.”

The Elf said, “I sent the King and Queen a letter the same day as yours. We settled the witch from Nauthauja.”

“I heard. Good work. Things would be different if Counselor Finrales had succeeded here, or even failed less grandly.”

“A noble in Dol Amroth tried the same thing. It seems the witch’s apprentice wanted the job instead and put paid to the old one before she got on the boat. That one is ashes now too. I did see Durnalath in case they were using her again. She is fine and happy. Her son should be commissioned in their Marines by now.” Nag Kath put his elbows on his knees and folded his long fingers. Picking his words carefully, “You know something.”

“Easterlings. The old Bror died two years ago. The favored son took the miter but his brother has adherents, mostly on our side of their lands, same sort of hard men you settled when I was younger. It’s been a dry year. Scouts in the Buhrs and ferry report parties on horse probing forward positions. No one has come to blows yet, but they aren’t being discreet.”

Nag Kath knew the wily Colonel had ears along the water but knew better than to ask. He did venture, “And north?”

Colonel Rosscranith leaned back in his chair and had a satisfying pull of the wine. “No flies on you, Elf. There are noises there too, more along your former line. No attacks, but we have reports. Sheep go missing.” The man would know Nag Kath planned to visit his step-daughter soon. The Buhr Thains were the first line of defense. It looked like he would be taking the Iron Hills road looking for orcs. 

Nag Kath did his sums, “I’ll need a dozen of your best, dressed like tinkers. Better put me with your eyes on the wastelands too, numbers, arms, beasts, everything you’ve got.”

“Sarn’t Edelbras cleans-up well. Expect him soon.”

“How does the Prince fit in?”

“He knows. So does his Highness. This is official. Training this harvest will not be a beer party.”

Nag Kath said, “I saw Burry. His nose is twitching too.”

“I hope his uniform still fits. That’s where we’re weakest, Nag Kath; tough sarn'ts who can feed their men when the enemy starves.”

“I’ll leave in two weeks.”

“Good. Their Highnesses want to see you first. Watch for that.”

_____________-------_____________

Two days later: “Tella, you have been coming home late. Are you working for another employer?” Nag Kath’s voice was not accusing, just businesslike.

Cook/cleaners could be in-house or day-work, depending on the home. They had never really discussed that. She had a room here, a nice one by service standards, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t have another somewhere else.

The flustered domestic stammered, “Oh no, Mr. Kath. This is my only work. I’m sore shamed if I have let you down.”

He was really just teasing her but it also might let her think she was getting away with the more serious transgression of rolling in the hay with a newly divorced Northman in this staid land. After the pretty blonde artist recoiled from her, she probably wasn’t sure of his tastes. Poor Burry would be hearing more than little whimpers at his house, but he could sleep through anything.

Sounding more serious that he felt; “Very well. Don’t want to make you stay if this household isn’t to your liking.”

“I like it here fine, Mr. Kath.”

Later that morning there was another soldier’s knock. Tella fair shot to the door proving her sense of duty and greeted the man respectfully. He said, “I am Edelbras to see Nag Kath.”

“Won’t you come in, sir?”

The fellow looked more like an officer before he was transferred to quiet-work. Edelbras was tall, plain, softspoken. Nag Kath came forward to shake his hand and show him into the main room. Tella fetched tea, watching for the signal that her employer needed privacy. She got it and announced that she was going out for groceries.

Edelbras watched her saucy exit just as Burry had done but quickly looked at the Elf saying. “The Colonel told me more about you than he wanted to. Good thing. I wouldn’t have guessed by your looks.”

Nag Kath brushed his hair behind one ear and said, “Rogue Elf, left behind. I have my uses.”

Special Assistant Edelbras leveled, “Rosscranith was square with me so let us be as well. Here is what we know; the Easterlings have a quiet civil war on their hands. The heir, Dulgov, got the better lands further east. The pretender has been consolidating territory on their side of the Redwater. Other than probes they have kept this bloodless. 

“The trouble is that the harvest along the river will be poor, for them and us. The Bror has no need to share his Rhûn bounty with the usurper. We think Frûnzar, that’s his name, is looking west or he risks his warriors seeking accommodation with the Bror.”

Nag Kath listened intently and asked soldier’s questions including, “What kind of horse can they field?”

“We don’t think much. Thain Durnaldar keeps a weather-eye on their comings and goings. They are not great hands at raising stock and they haven’t stolen enough mounts to put up much of a fight. Our friends in Rohan haven’t sold them any either. But they have been buying steel, old swords from the war. And they are not beating them into plowshares.”

Nag Kath cut to the chase, “Do they have old friends to the north?”

Edelbras sighed and then formed what could be called a smile, “There have been reported orc sightings just above the road. Armed bands of no more than twenty at a time but we think different bunches. They can stand a little light. Forgive my insensitivity but couldn’t your kind as well?”

“Yes, but we were bred to it. If these local lads have picked-up the knack, that is new. Do you know what they eat? Those wastes aren’t hospitable.”

“I don’t know.” The Sergeant was pleased that the Elf wasn’t defensive about his origins. They were going into the dragon’s mouth and he did not need weaklings. If what Rosscranith said about him single-handedly carving Easterlings into steaks was half accurate, they had the right man. Nag Kath surprised him with the next question, “How much grain can we get to the northern border on short notice?”

“I’ll inquire.”

The Elf said, “Then we’d better get cracking. I’ll send a letter to Thorin Stonehelm. They have skin in the game.”

“Morning Burry, sleeping well?”

“Hughmmmmm.”

“That’s what I thought. I need another favor.”

Burry was still but then smiled thinking of his son’s happiness. “No problem.”

“I need two hundred unmarked war-headed shafts in a week. Used is fine. Borrowed from royal stock is fine. Price is no object but this has to be quiet, deadly quiet.”

The burly Sergeant dropped his pretense of fatigue and gave Nag Kath his full attention. “North or east?”

“North.”

“Dougsh! See what I can do.”

_____________-------_____________

After lunch a messenger in hill livery brought another letter sealed with another signet Nag Kath knew well. The man said nothing but stayed until his delivery was read. The Elf nodded his assent and the man was gone. 

The next morning at ten thirty Nag Kath presented himself at the palace gate in his newly arrived togs. They pinched around the armpits but would have to do. He was passed without demurrer and made his way to the Hall. Guards nodded him through at each door. Their Highnesses were in the same pretty room he remembered from the Queen’s care. She rose to offer her hand and accept his bow. King Bard remained seated on the couch but nodded and smiled. Delatha spoke for them, “Welcome back, Nag Kath. How fortunate you are to never age.”

“Your Ladyship has the same talent.”

“Were that but true. Please, have a seat.”

He sat on the couch and waited. King Bard cleared his throat twice and said in a strong voice, “We always seem to involve you in some intrigue. It is a wonder you return.”

“Service is my honor, your Highness.”

The King halted for a moment and then carried-on, “Before we look at the business at hand, I would be interested in hearing old stories.”

Nag Kath looked at the Queen, who had indeed cheated time as well as any woman could hope. Some faces, like his mother-in-law’s, never lost their grace. “There is not much to tell. My best guess is that the witch who afflicted My Lady and the young woman from Nauthauja was contracted for similar villainy in Dol Amroth, presumably hoping enough time and distance to not be recognized. 

“Her apprentice killed her and took the errand herself, aiding another witch in Belfalas who needed more power for the spells. I went there at the request of King Elessar taking yet another witch of considerable power but inclined toward right actions and we foiled the plot. The apprentice was killed along with her local counterpart and Prince Imrahil settled-up with an ambitious noble much as your Highness did here. 

“None of this is secret. The good witch was acclaimed for her courage and is living large in her new land. Lady Durnalath actually lives there now but she was unaffected and lives a full life with her family.”

Queen Delatha clapped her hands together, more for a happy ending than revenge on her tormentor, and then looked to her dear husband. She knew she was losing him. The King was kingly and brought the subject back to his borders. “Nag Kath, Rosscranith has briefed you on events north and east. He said you are willing to serve your adopted country.” Bard needed a moment to call his reserves. This was the final thing he needed to get right in this life. “You are resourceful and brave. Will you help my people?”

“It would be my privilege, Sire. I make for the Buhrs in a week. Edelbras is exactly the man I would have sought if you hadn’t thought of him for me. I took the liberty of seeking an audience with Thorin Stonehelm. I’ll need to speak with his cousin in the Iron Hills. They will know more than they have shared thus far. It is time to remind them of successful alliances before the world forgets.”

Bard summoned the last of his energy to say, “Go with my blessing. I’ll send word to the King Under the Mountain as well. We go back together. May the Valar keep and protect you, Nag Kath.”

Dismissed, the Elf rose as did the Queen. She walked him to the door saying softly, “I will speak to the heir this very day. He readies our men without raising alarm. May your journey be blessed.”

“Thank you, My Lady. If it falls within your reach, a word with Miss Quessan might help me ere I go.”

“Tella.”

She dearly hoped this was not another admonition for evenings out. Smiling on the outside but wincing within, she presented herself at the table where the strange blonde man was busy with his hobbies. “Yes, Mr. Kath?”

“I journey to my step-daughter’s home in the east earlier than planned, in little more than a week. You must keep the place in fine condition until I return, which may not be until spring. Here is your salary, in advance.” He slid over several silvers and added, “Ros will see to the upkeep of the home. If you like, you may have company visit, providing, of course, that they are respectable women of sound family.” He knew good and well that her lusty Northman did not fit the description, but bending her master’s interpretation of reasonable guests should get Burry’s household much needed rest. 

Over the next few days he had her purchase an assortment of powders and papers from far-flung regions of the city along with the curious cane stalks with hollow interiors, big ones, mind you, not the smaller ones people used for catching fish. She fretted watching the tireless man fiddle with piles of these things and some from his travel bag. If everyone did not know that sorcerers and dark magic had been banished from the Fourth Age, one might think he was conjuring. It was silly to even think such thoughts! They were gone, weren’t they?

Tella also saw him visit his friends to let them know of his accelerated departure. The two little Hobbits even came to visit. She had never spoken with a Halfling before and wouldn’t you know; they were just ordinary folk! 

_____________-------_____________

Another visitor, an elderly woman, came the day before he left. She had been here before, long ago. Tella went shopping.

“Good to see you, Moaan.”

“Against your own demons, you survived! You are lucky, Nag Kath.”

“No argument there. I’m off against Easterlings, maybe orcs this time too. We found the witch from Nauthauga, in Osgiliath, dead as Durok. Her assistant killed her for a commission just like the one here. You can help me. Any idea what poison would make a person’s tongue turn blue?”

Before she would answer, Miss Quessan needed some background, “Did you have any help in Osgiliath?”

“Dol Amroth. And yes, a Mrs. Hürna.”

Quessan raised an eyebrow, a sweeping gesture among her expressions, “You are moved-up in the world, Sir Elf. Even I’ve heard of her. Did she survive?”

“The Prince created her Lady Hürna of Galador and bestowed a nice house and a purse of gold.”

“Blue tongue is probably gressroot cursed with a binding spell. Lady Hürna would know that.”

“I got that from the undertaker after the affair in Belfalas was put to bed.”

With curiosity and not an ounce of fear, Miss Quessan said, “I can feel your power, Nag Kath. Are you a monster yet?”

“I wonder myself, but no, I am somehow an innocent, applied loosely. I married again, lost her and a child, dug a ditch and still care for folk.”

“Tell me about it when you return safely. Here is a card with my address.”

When he looked later it was blank. He would have to discover its secret.


	15. Back to the Buhrs

**_Chapter 15_ **

**_Back to the Buhrs_ **

Why?

That was not a question Nag Kath asked himself very often. At first it was because he didn’t know any better. A child learns why he or she does things, or wants to. He didn’t have that experience. 

He was coming home, his first home, to see his loved-ones. King Elessar asked him to investigate disturbances that amounted to a hapless fish-monster. He met Tom and Goldberry, drew some pictures and listened to music. This was after what for a human would have been a long and successful career as a civil architect. He had escaped the violence and rage of his origin. 

For a time. If he were still a husband and father, he might have told King Bard that he would lend a hand and leave the defense of Dale to professionals like Edelbras. 

But he wasn’t a husband. He wasn’t a father. And with gremlins from the Third Age oozing in the safe, pleasant world folk were taking for granted, he wasn’t just another retiree either. Nag Kath was also expendable. Kings, the good ones anyway, must use the resources at their fingertips for the greater benefit of their people. This wasn’t healing. It wasn’t comfort. This was something that might call for skills now lost to the short-lived men and women he had learned to love.

Gandalf would have told him to use his talents. 

It wasn’t until Nag Kath was out the Erebor gate that a dozen riders joined in formation for the Lonely Mountain. 

Not five miles into the trip, a horseman chuckled, “We never did find the right mare for him.”

Nag Kath looked over to see the Sergeant from the King’s guard stable riding alongside. He smiled and replied, “Let us hope the ladies get their chance on our return.”

“Aye, sir. I shall hope that for all of us. I am Bernas Tellig of the Second Flank.”

“Nag Kath. Still no need for sir. We are just civilians out enjoying the countryside.”

“Tourists!”

“As you say, Bernas. First we are going to tour Erebor. They won’t let us in very far but it is a sight you will tell your grandchildren.” And it was. Unexpectedly, Lord Tombor met them personally at the gate and brought them all into the first Hall before taking Nag Kath with a guard of honor to King Thorin III’s chamber. 

The Elf’s experience with monarchs was that they sat in upholstered chairs and tried to keep their daily business in comfortable, well-heated rooms. This place could never be warm. The King remained seated in an ornate, carved marble throne. Above the crowned head, in a mithril setting, was what the Elf thought was the Arkenstone. Of all the colors he had ever painted, there were still not enough to capture it. Nag Kath stood the prescribed eight Dwarf paces from the first step of the dais after bowing. Thorin spoke with a deep and lordly voice, “Welcome back to Erebor, Mr. Kath. I understand we have common interest.”

“It would seem so, King Under The Mountain, though I am away to discover the extent of that.”

“We are learning ourselves, Sir Knight. My cousin Lord Bregan will know more. Here is a letter from me asking him to assist you earnestly in your worthy quest.” An ornately armored Dwarf took a sealed packet from his liege and walked it to Nag Kath with a bow.

The King continued, “Our Lord Bard reminds us of our shared purpose not so long ago, the very day we both came into our inheritance. I have also been told stories of your own past, Mr. Kath. I hope some of them are true.”

“I deny only the bad ones, Your Lordship.”

“MMHaaa! Those were the best! You may approach.”

Nag Kath walked to the foot of the throne stairs and bowed again. King Thorin, called Stonehelm to distinguish his from the short reign of Oakenshield, stood and walked to the second step so he was eye to eye with this curious, remaining Elf. Opening his hand revealed a single jewel of deep blue encased in a gold mounting, carved as a cavern of treasure.

“Take it, for my sake. It is one of the Traybor stones, the ones your own people cherish. May it bring you luck. May it bring us all luck. Go now with my blessings.” Nag Kath accepted the gift, took two steps backwards, smiled, bowed and turned for the door. That was a blessing indeed. Reaching the horses, Nag Kath nodded at Edelbras who nodded back. 

Bard had his allies. 

They camped on a familiar road. Sentries, two north, two south, were relieved every three hours. Mutton stew was the fare. Nag Kath had Tella make a large batch of false-Lembas against that likelihood.

“Mr. Edelbras, do you think these are Gundabad orcs?”

“Originally, but they are well east of those caves. Two different sightings from reliable persons put them two days this side of Buhr Wenjan, one group headed further east, one going west. They are lightly armored with bucklers and their curved swords.”

Nag Kath needed to know all he could, “Archers?”

“With their little crescent bows over their shoulders the spotter couldn’t tell. I am assuming they have them, though not with the range of our Northbows.”

“Wargs?”

Edelbras smiled without showing any teeth, “Not yet.”

“Tell me of our companions.”

“Six are fine archers. I had a word with Burry so with you; that’s seven. We ordered unmarked arrows in advance. The other six are spearmen who can move together at speed. Any of us can use the other with skill and they can all swing a sword.”

“They will have questions about me. We should probably answer those tonight around the fire.”

An hour before the first sentry shift-change, the remaining nine gathered round the circle. Nag Kath started, “Does anyone in our company speak Easterling?”

“A trooper with his knees wrapped by his arms said, “I speak some. Rudathin on the north post speaks it better.”

The man next to him said in jest, “Where we’re going, we need someone with orcish!”

Nag Kath said, “Well, that would be me.” That got him even more than his usual uncomfortable stares. “I had better set the record straight so we know where we stand if things get tight.

“I am Nag Kath. I am an Elf now but was an Uruk-hai before the war, those were big yrchs from Isengard. I can heal and I can kill very quickly. Some of you have probably heard. That is true. I lived in Dale for nineteen years but have been in Gondor for the last nine. Legroth, I recall you from spear training under Sapeldon.” The corporal was glad to be remembered. He knew what the Elf could do.

“Now this next bit is important. If we find a party of orcs, the idea is to parlay with them. If they kill me, then you can have your way or leave if that is wiser.” Edelbras knew this but the other men were surprised. “As much as possible, I want us to look like a routine patrol on a dougsh assignment. Keep the formation sloppy.

“The reason I asked about Easterling is that if this lot is conspiring with the usurper in their western lands, I would not be a bit surprised if they have eyes in each other’s camps. I want you to watch for crows. If you can pick a single one out of the air, do it. Don’t bother with a flock. That’s why no uniforms. They can tell those and two-by-two formation. 

“If you see wargs, let me know.”

The man who asked about orcish called, “Tell us about the wargs of Rohan!”

_____________-------_____________

Their first planned stop was at Buhr Wenjan at the end of the open land to the north. This was the place where the old Thain had fulsomely welcomed Nag Kath on his first northern crossing. It was a nice little market town with a few rosy-cheeked women gazing at the troopers. Not wearing uniforms would only fool the crows. Soldiers still rode like the King’s best. The Thain’s Marshal told them over dinner that orcs had actually been seen at dusk or dawn. Disorganized footprints were found in field where a pair of sheep went missing. The farmer was a militia man and not given to vapors. He rode here and reported it the next morning. 

A few days later they pulled even with both the first orc sighting and the troll-hoard. The men took their orders from Edelbras but Nag Kath had authority for ‘special needs’. Edelbras had been told in advance they would stop here for at least the night. Nag Kath took four of the archers up the grade with their swords and bows plus a torch for each man.

He could not smell it this time but only took an extra twenty minutes to spot the fissure. The men deployed around the entrance and watched for any sight or sound for another half hour. If their quarry were keeping from the sun, this was a likely den. Nothing stirred so they gathered round the opening and tossed a lit torch inside. Still nothing. Lighting the rest of the torches, they crept in.

Someone had been here using a fire inside the cave. Men would avoid that because of the smoke. These ashes were long dead. Older smells confirmed they were orcs. The way this place fit in the saddle of the mountains, it could be approached from either side without being seen from the other. Whoever cooked the sheep would have counted on that. The mannish swords were still leaning against the back wall. Nag Kath told one of the men to see if they were worth keeping. One was quite nice but the other was a rusty relic. The orcs must have taken what was left of the Elvish armor.

Now on new ground, Nag Kath led them further up the slope to have a look down the north side. It had an easier gradient leading to the same sort of patchy grasslands on their side. They saw nothing at all. The Elf had the men return to the flat ground in front of the cave for a fireless camp. They would not sleep inside it and were nervous about being near it at night, but these were tough soldiers of Dale and did as they were told. Nag Kath stayed in the lee of mountain saddle and watched for movement. At dusk and dawn, by the Star of Eärendil, was when he would see something.

He sat there all night. Outside of a deer on the plain and a pair of thieving ground squirrels after his Lembas, nothing moved. He rejoined the men at the cave with the sun and they made their way back to the base-camp. The men were not sure what to make of the pale creature. He could be terrifying in his purpose and then tell stories of dancing Hobbits. As with almost every soldier he ever served beside, they were glad he was on their team. 

The next stop was the Dwarf enclave in the Iron Hills. It was a sizeable mining operation under the over-lordship of Thorin Stonehelm. The underground city had been the capital of King Dain before the dragon war but reclaiming Erebor reduced it to a purely commercial enterprise. What mattered more was that these Dwarves had a degree of autonomy and ears to the backside of the range. One of the two reports of orcs came from Thuras, Lieutenant to Fief Lord Bregan. 

As before, there was a village nearly the size of a market town outside of the Halls to trade with men. After billeting the troopers in some comfort, Nag Kath and Edelbras took a trooper as a groom to the Dwarvish Provost office and presented their credentials. There was none of the initial disdain one usually expected when asking leave of Durin’s Folk. A seasoned Longbeard bearing scars that probably dated to the Five Armies, said, “You made good time, gentlemen. I think you should plan on a fine dinner in the Halls of Lord Bregan.”

The soldier took their horses back to the paddock and the two representatives of Dale went with four hardened Dwarf warriors into the nearby grottoes. Nag Kath always marveled at the way these peoples brought light into sheer darkness. He had the advantage of suburb eyes but even men could make their way safely in the more public reaches of Dwarvish halls.

Bregan was Nag Kath’s kind of Dwarf. He dressed plainly, without regalia, and greeted them in an antechamber with a hearty grip. “Welcome to my humble fief, favored guests. I don’t suppose you are hungry?”

“Edelbras showed his diplomatic side, “After mutton stew for a week, tales of your table are inviting indeed!”

“Haaa! Well then, you came to the right place. Come this way. Let us speak privately first and then join my officers.” Twenty yards away they entered a smaller chamber with a massive oak table. Torches and sconces spaced closely around the walls made it possible to read fairly well. Bregan gestured that they should take the chairs on one end.

The Lord opened by saying, “You are known to us, Nag Kath. Tombor is my cousin (wasn’t everyone?) and he said you treated him well in Orthanc. I heard about that little piece of mithril you, ahem, acquired.”

The Elf acted surprised, “Oh that trinket? In truth My Lord, we explored the troll cave where I found it just two days ago. We looked for more but that was the only one.”

“And you were Mithrandir’s student?”

“I was. He must have made friends here over the years too.”

The Dwarf Lord reared back in his chair with a grin saying, “A few. And you, Mr. Edelbras, you are known to us as well. That you are here suggests seriousness on the part of our old friends in Dale.”

Edelbras operated in the shadows so recognition was a two-edged sword. He accepted the compliment as intended and repaid it with praise for the long line of Durin’s Folk as neighbors. Bregan leaned forward without becoming any graver, “Now, there is the matter of your coming.” The Lord nodded to his door guard who, in turn, nodded to a longbeard waiting just outside. The fellow was not armored but with Dwarves, it was hard to tell their experience. He approached like a soldier and stood until his Lord told him to find a chair.

“Hûrn, son of Hûrnd, tell your tale. These are friends.”

Hûrn sat down and said, “Thank you, Lord Bregan. Three weeks ago I was the guard-rider with wagons making for Erebor on the northern route. The wagons were pulled by jurr-oxen and I had the only pony. At dawn two days west, there was a commotion at first light just to the other side of a small ridge on the right. The merchants continued packing and preparing for the journey so I stole up a dry creek for a look. There I saw two dozen orcs finding shelter in a series of little caves where rivulets had worn away weaker stone. By then there was bare light so these were not the bug-eyed orcs of the deep.

“They were getting out of the sun and did not send a sentry to investigate the clankings of my company. I stayed with my train for two more days until we reached the jurisdiction of Erebor, told the camp Sergeant what I saw and hurried back here. I did not tell the merchants.”

Nag Kath asked, “Tell me, Hûrn, son of Hûrnd, did you see any among them who were not orcs, an Easterling perhaps?”

“Nay, sir. But some must have already withdrawn from my sight. They had haste to find the dark.” 

Edelbras asked about wargs, weapons and demeanor. Hûrn confirmed initial reports but added, “I’ve seen service myself. This was no random lot of foragers. They were in what might pass for uniforms and they were soldiers, no error. I slipped into the site on my way back and the footprints were older heading east than west so either they had been that way before, or others had.”

Bregan said, “Gentlemen, is there anything you need to ask of me before we join other trusted Dwarves?”

Nag Kath took that one, “Yes, Lord Bregan. What kind of army can you field come harvest time?”

“Enough, friend. Enough.”

For a place with no visible cows, the Dwarves of the Iron Hills managed to spit a side of beef over a slow fire with a delicious assortment of foods that hadn’t touched it. It was the best meal some of the soldiers had ever had. The ale was good and, contrary to every report of their race, they had some Dorwinion wine if you preferred.

From here the road turned south with another day’s ride to the intersection of the Iron and Dwarf Roads. Since his last trip, the beginnings of a town had sprouted. There were enough quarters to billet the men comfortably. Lieutenant Berandinar listened to their information but could not add any of his own. His men were already looking for activity to the west but he admitted he did not have the personnel to scout east of the river.

Edelbras did. If orcs were in league with their old pals, this was where one would see them. There was no real ford here since neither side wanted visitors from the other. That harvested a good, cold wetting in the crossing. The troop made camp immediately so they could risk fires to dry their things.

There was no road but the ground was the same kind of plain with thin grass like eastern Rohan. Edelbras had two van scouts riding a quarter mile ahead, often out of sight. Nag Kath was with them about half the time. That night they shared no fire and kept silent. One man stayed with the horses if they spooked. Nag Kath perched behind a rock overlooking a valley. At the barest glimpse of eastern light he found what he was looking for. Two miles away, a hundred and twenty low figures trotted two abreast towards an overhang of the rock he sat on. The sun would peek over the hills in half a bell.

The men’s advantage was in daylight so the Elf planned to approach them just before the orcs sought cover. 

Back at camp he gathered the men around him and outlined a plan they all thought was the sheerest form of madness. “I will walk down there before the sun rises and find the leader, see if we can come to an accommodation. Two of you stay where I was tonight. If I pull my sword, the fight is on. If not, I’ll walk back and explain. Any questions?” Other than quietly questioning whether he was possessed, no one said a word.

Nag Kath left his bow and Charlo with Sarnt Tellig and made his way towards the orcs coming in from the northwest. They saw him about a hundred yards away, patiently sitting on a log. The entire troop loped forward another fifty yards and then three of them with a tsitsi warag came to within thirty feet.

In a voice he had only imagined, Nag Kath projected an echo in the black speech, **_“You travel far. It is of concern.”_** Even the men on the rock heard it.

The largest of the three stepped forward a few more feet with his sword drawn and said in a more orcish version of the same tongue, **_“And what is that to you, Elf?”_**

**_“That is not your business. I am concerned about your commerce with low creatures to the south.”_ **

**_“You speak boldly for just one!”_** He looked at the warag with what the Elf knew was a smirk.

 ** _“I speak boldly at all times. Those close by will know where you sleep soon enough.”_** The Elf pointed at the little grottoes dotting the saddleback ridge, his arm shining a beam of pure silver light along the base. Orcs don’t sweat but if they did, they would have. There was some puckering among his watchers too, but they kept their eyes fixed on that long-sword buckled to his belt in the predawn light. 

It was time to let the orcs breathe. **_“I do not care where you travel. You are welcome to north of the Iron Road. But if you join or assist the Easterlings, powers will pee on your heads from great heights.”_**

Their leader did not earn his spurs, in a manner of speaking, by taking lip from pasty firstborn. He spat and said, **_“We have little to eat for two years. It will take much pee.”_**

**_“My friends are prepared to help their old enemies. You have long shown good judgment after mistakenly serving Sauron, the incompetent. The Easterlings you know are a faction that will lose just as he did. Crops on the Redwater will fail this year. You do not want to be seen helping the rogues when the Bror avenges.”_ **

The orc lowered his sword a little and asked, **_“Help, how?”_**

 ** _“Tell your Lugnash to offer the Easterlings aid but do not come. I will deliver grain and dried fish to the Iron Road in return. It is for this year only. It is not tribute. Take it or settle with the Dwarves.”_** Nag Kath shifted his weight, careful not to touch his sword. **_“Sheathe your blade and sit with me. We must not send you back to your Lugnash with empty promises.”_**

The orc officer growled, **_“Do you have the symbol of the Servant?”_**

Nag Kath had no idea what he was talking about but didn’t want to admit that. He probed, **_“No, I represent your indulgent neighbors who have no trouble with your Lord’s realm. Come. Sit. Tell me of this symbol.”_**

To the horror of his watchers, the Orc leader sat for the few minutes he had before sunup. Before he forgot, Nag Kath stretched one leg to take his quill knife from his pocket and cleaned his fingernails. The blade shone blue. Knowing it worked was worth the trip, if he lived.

The orc Commander had useful information for his superiors and scurried into the nearest cave. Nag Kath waited until the sun crested the mountains and walked back to camp, gathering the men around him. “I think they will take the offer.”

Edelbras snapped, “All right! Vertiggis, Sandoch, ride like ghosts back to the Colonel. Tell him, ‘blue’, along with anything else he wants to know. If Nag Kath agrees, I’d like to be well away from here when those orcs finish their naps.” The two fast men headed back the way they came after Nag Kath gave them several Lembas cakes. The rest made for the Northwatch. The rearguard would have sore necks tonight from looking behind them. 

_____________-------_____________

Not much happened on the rest of the trip to Buhr Austar. The company stopped outside of town at Thain Conath’s compound. Ardatha hurried from the house to the stable with a four-year old in hand and gave her step-da a northern bear-hug and kiss in front of the leering troopers. As if they didn’t know he said, “Men, this is my daughter, Princess Ardatha.”

Those still in the saddle swung down in unison and bowed deeply. This was the King’s sister. Now in her late forties, she showed the years but the smile was still strong and well-meaning. “Hello, da. Welcome back. Erig, this is Uncle Nag.” The child was too busy looking at all the pretty horses to bother with the kneeling Elf but he was not frightened either, a good sign.

Her changeling father asked, “How’s your middle da?”

“He’s inside. He forgets things but he still gets around. Since Hadista died he keeps to the property.” The Princess of Dale turned to Edelbras and said in royal tones, “You will find space and good provender for your men here, brave sir. I will look forward to proper introductions before a fine meal tonight.”

Edelbras, who had been standing, bowed and told his lot to settle-in and look sharp doing it. Ardatha put her arm around Nag Kath’s waist and led him and her grandson back to the main house. Inside he was warmly greeted by Ardatha’s husband Reyald and his older brother Torrald. They had been good friends for many years. Since the Elf had not aged, it was like he never left. 

Ardatha's teen-aged boy and girl came in to see Uncle Nag. Son Shurran was a chip off the old Thain-block. He remembered Uncle Nag and wanted to hear stories of warriors and greatness. Younger daughter Eniecia didn’t recall the tall, pale relative but was always glad to meet uncles. The lass took after her namesake Eniece but looked even more like her great granna Mrs. Borenne. She would be tall but didn’t hunch like many girls embarrassed by their height – definitely from the Dúnedain side of the family. Older daughter Haldiera would be out tomorrow with the rest of her brood. 

From a back room were heard the rhythmic combination of two boots and a cane working their way closer. Before he was seen, “Is that him? Bout time!” Thain Conath emerged into the main room and was given the Dalish handshake by his fellow grandfather. Afterwards, Nag Kath grasped him by both shoulders and said, “It is good to see your ornery face, old friend.”

“Ha! You have no better manners than when you left. I still remember you trying to throw that archery match when the children were married!” Everyone in the room smiled at a story told every chance it came up for air. The old Thain pointed with his cane towards the arrangement of couches and chairs where they always sat. In a more serious tone, “You’re here on hard business too. Sorry about that. It is our doing, I fear.”

“It keeps things lively, Thain. I’m with a dozen good men who are bunking now. They are led by Edelbras who acts a Sergeant but he is the King’s best spy or I’m a fool.”

Conath said boisterously, “We’ll dine with the man! Here, sit, sit. Vireene! We have thirsty guests looking forlorn!” Tea or ale had been waiting since the horses pulled-in and was brought by reliable, if slowing, family retainers. The Thain gratefully accepted Ardatha’s help finding his seat and laid his cane next to his feet. “How old are you now, Nag Kath?”

“Just turned thirty four.”

“You almost look it. The rest of us are getting old, except Ardatha, of course.”

She retorted, “Oh da. I’m a grandmother.” Eniecia smiled at that, being the baby of the household

Torrald, Thain in all but title, brought the conversation back to the present by asking, “What news from your trip, brother?”

“Good, so far. The Dwarves say they are committed. Better yet, I think I have bribed the orcs to betray the western faction of the Easterlings. They have to talk it over, and will probably play both ends against the middle, but that went well with no one dying. What news below us?”

Reyald said, “Farmers say they’ll pull in the wheat and barley by early August. The harvest will be poor, but more than the far side of the Redwater. If there’s anything to steal, that’s when. Stores are still good. Some farmers will just let horses graze what little came up and nourish the fields in the bargain.”

Nag Kath thought a moment, “They should do that tomorrow and remove the temptation. Let us speak to Edelbras as well. Now, tell me of the family!” They spoke for another hour about grandchildren and horses and archery and horses again. Conath felt strong enough to walk out to the stables and lay on lusty praise for the King’s Men’s bravery. Both of his sons were known as the warriors he had been. Ardatha might be tougher than any of them. Tonight the family would dine separately with Edelbras and tomorrow they would put out the feedbag for all these stout soldiers after suitable viands could be ordered-up from town. That offer was met with hearty cheers.

Torrald remembered Edelbras from the Thainmoot two and a half years ago. The King’s man was a gracious guest, making Nag Kath wonder again if he hadn’t made considerably higher than Sergeant before recruitment by the quiet side of the crown.

Brother Reyald filled them in on what ears were hearing to the east. It was largely as thought with the new Bror not wanting to bloody his hands dealing with third brother if he could starve those provinces back his way. The Bror was of his father’s peaceful view but would not mind if the Usurper Frûnzar and his renegades got themselves killed on the Dale side of the river. Essentially; Dale was put in the position to settle a political rivalry. 

All first and second generation Easterling farmers were infantry at heart with arms and ferocity. They did not have cavalry for more than scouting or skirmishing and had no use for artillery, even if they could pull it, unlike their Balchoth ancestors. What made this different than petty squabbles before was that orcs were hungry to the north. They did not, correct that; probably did not have the swarms to hold territory, but they could keep the northern Thains and Dwarves busy enough to let Easterling infantry cross the river in force, hoping to share in the spoils. Nag Kath telling the orc Captain of a bad harvest would sell their decision, if they believed him.

With his astonishing ability to say something outrageous as routine conversation, Nag Kath asked the party, “If I kill this Frûnzar, will someone just take his place?” 

Everyone was shocked to silence except the old Thain who thundered, “Aye, they’ve got some sort of cult that prepares for the rising darkness!”

Torrold recovered first, “Fraid so, Nag. Frûnzar brought followers to him because he claims to be the prophet for sleeping Dark Lords. There’s been minor sorcery reported. If so, whoever that is steps in, call themselves the Visitors.”

As if everyone seated dealt in deep magic, Uncle Nag shared, “That’s been going around lately. I killed a Barrow-wight on my way here that transformed into a fish-creature. The Lings tried witchcraft thirty years to kill Queen Delatha. Same witch tried again in Belfalas couple years ago. Do these cultists have any sway in Dorwinion?”

Reyald this time; “I don’t think so, but if they did, there’s nothing stopping them. Dorwinion couldn’t put down a tavern brawl. Éomer is paying attention, though.

Nag Kath kept up the questions, “What about Nauthauja?”

Torrold answered, “Loyal, but weak. His best people keep leaving for better work in Dale or Dorwinion. He’s got more horses than men to ride them.”

Nag Kath seemed to relent, “That’s our focus, then. Were I an Easterling holy man looking to lead his people to glory, once I’ve got horses, we can go where we want. How do I get around the pretender to see Bror Dulgov?”

It was too absurd for anyone else to contemplate. Coming from Nag Kath, it bore consideration. Torrald said quietly, “Dorwinion.”

_____________--------______________

The next morning, Nag Kath and Ardatha found time to be alone. She was everything a father could want. And she had had four fathers, though one was by blood only. 

Ardatha was not sure what would happen when dear Thain Conath died. Torrald would take his place and the big house. He and her Reyald were close but you can only have one Thain. It might be time for them to move to Dale too, or maybe Esgaroth, and raise the next generation of heirs. With the money settled on her by King Bard, Eniece, something from Conath and her grandmother’s estates, they really didn’t need Buhr Austar’s rents in exchange for waiting thirty years until their son ascended. 

Shurran was just fifteen and did not take to training the way they had hoped, a soldier but not a commander. Daughter Eniecia was thirteen and liked to read. They might have to look further than the Buhrs for her husband. Of course, Torrold could still take a wife and sire heirs of his own. Nothing was certain.

Thain Conath made a good showing at the feast that night. About an equal number of his own troops complimented those of Dale. Ardatha excused herself early to not be the only woman. It was over at a modest hour. Torrald, Reyald, Edelbras and Nag Kath sat by themselves afterwards and talked about what needed to happen next. One thing that could not happen was Dale soldiers, however dressed, setting foot in Dorwinion unless there was war. That was part of the Reunited Kingdom. From the confluence of the Redwater and River Running to the west was unclaimed until halfway to the Rhûn. 

Reyald proposed visiting the Thain of Nauthauja since of all loyal subjects of King Bard, he was closest to Dorwinion. From there, the King’s men would ride back along the Redwater reinforcing the Thains’ scouts while Nag Kath continued to Dorwinion to assess their readiness and consider ways to speak with the eastern Bror. 

One thing in his favor was that Nag Kath had made an example of the current usurper’s men’s fathers a generation before. That went the old Bror’s way. Their spies would have certainly noticed the attention the Elf received on returning to the capital. If anyone remembered now, it might either pave his way or keep people out of it.

Four days after they arrived in Austar, the King’s Men, Nag Kath and Reyald made for the Ironhold and from there to Erland’s Ferry, the last town of Thain Fändul’s land. The current Thain was the brother of the Queen. Lieutenant Friskars was posted here at the border of Fändul and Nauthauja because he knew his business. There was legitimate commerce to and from the east and this was the only shallow crossing after miles of steep banks. Traders reported seeing irregular cavalry less than half a day’s walk from the Redwater. No one had been bothered, but it was unsettling.

Nag Kath had never been further south than Austar and looked at the ground carefully the whole way. The barley crop was fair. The wheat was thin and the oats mostly dead, which was why farmers usually planted all three hoping one would flourish. Getting closer to Rohan, this was really horse country. Less scrupulous Thains and farmers had been known to sell horses to cloaked fellows with accents and ready nippers. Sometimes those fellows just helped themselves.

Buhr Nauthauja was a sleepy little town of mixed parentage. Most people were Northmen but down here you found eastern and southern blood. There was also a strong streak of the Rohan ginger hair. Everyone had passable Westron but it wasn’t always spoken at home. Reyald knew the place well and had the men dismount at the militia paddock. A gaunt old stableman was about to object when he saw Captain Conath and hard men, now back in their capital uniforms, eyeing him sternly. “Good day, Captain. Does Thain Durnaldar know you’re comin’?”

“I do not think so. If he is available, some gentlemen from Dale were hoping for a word on our way through. Nothing urgent, you understand.”

The stableman whistled-up one of his grooms and told the man to let the Thain know he had guests. The fellow nodded twice and trotted over to the main compound. A few minutes later, he came back with a house steward who said the Thain welcomed them.

Edelbras, Reyald and Nag Kath followed the steward back to the office. Thain Durnaldar walked out to shake hands with Reyald and then Edelbras, in order. At the end of the line came the Elf. Durnaldar reached out first and then recognized him from the troubles with his sister. They both owed their lives to this creature, though he nearly killed them first. No matter, he grabbed the Elf’s hand and welcomed them all.

Durnaldar was a working Thain. He spent part of most days in the office with two clerks and his staff keeping the little Thainhold oiled. One of the concessions he got at his first Thainmoot after surviving the Elf’s intercession was free access to the lands directly across the Celduin. It was not claimed by anyone and there were pockets of good pastureland. Farmers considered Nauthauja their market-town and paid district taxes, same as here.

Thain Durnaldar said to his secretary, “I will call it a day. Gentlemen, let us repair to my home.”

By necessity, the Thain’s residence was more fortified than Conath’s sprawling farmhouse. Bad ‘uns with arrows had often tried to settle scores with Durnaldar’s kin so it was made of stone three-stories up and the windows were louvered for archers. It could not resist any sort of artillery but never had to. The steward had already prepared the household staff who were waiting for their master with clean hands. A lovely woman of about fifty came forward, bowed to her husband and received a peck on the cheek as reward. 

Antulie had just given birth to their son when the witch and Easterling mess unraveled. She was a natural mother and had raised that boy and two girls in the traditional way. One daughter was already married to a Guildsman in Celduin. The other had the same problem as Ardatha’s children because there were no strategic matches left in their closed world. Everyone was friends these days. Their little Tilli was an attractive woman of nineteen and might have to display her breeding where parvenus paid for nobility.

Reyald took the lady’s hand as a courtier, “Antulie, these are my friends Edelbras and Nag Kath. Neither name meant anything to her.

The Thain said, “Please come into the main room and make yourselves at home. Can I interest you in ale or wine rather than tea? It was late enough in the day for Reyald and Edelbras to have a pint. Nag Kath asked for cool tea. Antulie excused herself to see to the household and let the men have the room.

Durnaldar said more softly, “I thank you for coming. Reyald, there is fresh news along the Easterling trail. It seems Frûnzar and the Bror are exchanging more than insults. And we found out where they’ve been getting their horses: some were stolen here, a few are from Rohan but most are from their own farms on the Rhûn. They are squat, sturdy, mop-haired beasts but serviceable for riding in formation.” The Thain added softly, “We think about five hundred of them.

“From what we can tell, the pretender Frûnzar stole most of them before making his break known. His brother didn’t want to admit it, called it an act of Ghrâr, or some-such. I sent a rider to Dale four days ago.”

Edelbras stepped into his role as King’s man, “Thank you for your vigilance, Thain. Here is what we know from the north; Orcs from above the Ered Mithrin have been visiting the Wildlands in armed parties but not in force. We think they are conspiring with the Usurper’s side to tie-up our northern forces and weaken our eastern defenses. With some luck, we may have nipped that in the bud.” He looked to Nag Kath.

The Elf continued, “I spoke with one of their Anglachors on our way here. That is a Colonel in our parlance. This is a learned guess but I think they thought to share in spoils from these lands for their cooperation. I told them the harvest here was not worth the trouble and tried to bribe them with grain and fish from Dale to get them through the winter. It will not take long for them to confirm the pickings down here will be sparse now that they know to inquire.”

Durnaldar had aged well. Pretty as a young man, he grew handsome with the lines of age. A loving wife and family helped. Escaping his father’s treachery by a hair, his relationships with both the Buhrs and Dale had been cordial ever since. The Thain leaned forward in his cushioned chair and asked, “You spoke to the orcs yourself?”

“It was my first tongue. I also find it strange to consult with them against men, but these fellows over the river are the trouble now.”

Durnaldar said softly, “They will not have forgotten you, Nag Kath.”

“I am counting on it.”

The three guests had dinner with the Thain, his wife, and Tilli along with Durnaldar’s chief of staff, Legoran. Tilli was pretty after both her parents but had her mother’s raven hair and pale complexion. Her parents thought to take her to this year’s Thainmoot for the book-learning that young women seemed to need these days but that had been canceled for what they now knew was the King’s poor health. 

Nag Kath did not think it would risk opening old sores to say, “Thain Durnaldar, I had occasion to visit your lady sister in Dol Amroth two years ago. She is healthy and happy. Her son is a promising fellow and by now will have been commissioned in their Marines.”

Tilli, who like many modern women was allowed to speak at table, was a year older than Caladrion and intensely curious about the outside world. “Forgive me, Mr. Kath. I am not familiar with such service.”

“Being surrounded by water, their armies must travel by sea to land or even fight on the sea in their great ships. They train both as sailors and then as light cavalry or infantry when they reach their destination. Your uncle is an officer of high repute and Caladrion follows his footsteps. Cal was kind enough to show me around his city when I was there.”

Tilli said dreamily, “Oh, thank you.” This blonde fellow was quite handsome and worldly. Like her mother, she had no idea he ripped black sorcery out of her aunt’s mind before the woman could murder the King. 

Antulie noticed her daughter’s infatuation, “Mr. Kath, I hope you can tell us more of Durnalath’s home during your stay.”

Nag Kath gave the Thain a knowing look before turning to his hostess and saying, “I would be honored, ma’am.”

Chief-of-staff Legoran asked, “Are you Kath of the Water?”

The Elf said, “News travels fast. Yes, I had a hand in that.”

Legoran was a frustrated builder and culled bits and pieces of the grand project from traders who worked the Anduin before crossing the brown lands to the east side of Mirkwood. He held forth quite a while on the scale and scope of the work and asked lots of questions. Nobody stopped him because the innocent topic left dire matters off the table.

Reyald saw Tilli blush talking with his father-in-law and wondered if she might be a good late-season match for his brother. Torrold wasn’t too old for children and it would keep his own son Shurran from ever having to be a strategist. Maybe Uncle Nag would teach him art.

The meal could have been fraught with tension but everyone had a good time and carried on later than most Nauthauja nights. In the morning, Nag Kath dressed and walked over to the barracks to catch Edelbras pulling on his boots. He sat on the next cot and said, “Things are going well.”

Edelbras finished buckling the cinch and agreed, “Yes. That always bothers me. Do you still want to try your luck with the High Devil?”

“Not really, but it gives him an out. If they don’t settle this on their side of the river, he will be hard-pressed to claim he wasn’t involved. This is more your province than mine, but Dale is likely to have a new King who might want to put his stamp on bothersome neighbors. Between you, me and that post, does the young man have the temperament to watch and wait?”

Edelbras was not used to being asked or divulging his inner thoughts but the Elf had earned it. “I think so. He is like his father that way rather than old Brand. Frankly, and you never heard this from me, both father and son are thinking more of the unclaimed lands south of the Celduin. It is fertile and farmed. For the longest time we thought Rohan would move horse masters across the brown lands, but they have not. If hungry Easterlings cross the river and leave with nothing, it signifies little.”

Nag Kath said, “I still think I should go. This cult of the dark lord sounds bad. I know a thing or two about dark lords. If someone has tapped unclaimed powers, I’d like a word. Who of your ministry will be watching the orcs?”

“Teletchin, good man. You said if the orcs agree they will send word to Erebor?”

“That’s closest. One of them will have some common speech. He just has to say ‘yes’. Wagons of wheat and dried fish can get there after harvest and we’ve got peace to the north for another year. Maybe it leads to a lasting understanding.” The Elf shrugged, “I can’t be there, though. Let us discover what this Bror has on his mind.”

Nag Kath ate lunch with the Thain’s family. By then, son Durnalid had been recalled from his posting to the northwest. Unlike Ardatha’s son, this one was a born leader and seemed wise beyond his years. His wife was a local girl like his mother and stayed home with their young daughter.

Nag Kath did not know how much anyone but the Thain knew about the Thain’s father’s intrigues so he would follow Durnaldar’s lead if it came up. To her mother’s consternation, Tilli wore an alluring scent rather than something more maidenly. The male members of the family didn’t seem to notice so Nag Kath pretended not to. Tillieth was quite a looker. He sat directly across from her.

After the opening banter died, Durnaldar asked, “Now, Mr. Kath, I am glad you were able to see Durnalath. Letters are not quite the same as being there.”

“Yes, she is happy and well placed in their society. Your sister is still an attractive woman and her son takes after her.”

Durnalid had only met his aunt once when he was small and asked about the legendary Principality of Belfalas. Durnaldar still wondered how his sister was swept off her feet by a man from the furthest point in the free world but was glad she was well. Tilli asked about the courtly manners and elegance of the famed island capital as well. As Nag Kath was about to answer he felt her toes touching the side of his calf. These country girls make their feelings known!

Mother Antulie had had enough, “How is it that you know Reyald, Mr. Kath?”

“He is my son-in-law.” The foot was gone. 

As they were finishing the sweets Nag Kath said, “Oh, sir Thain, it almost slipped my mind; An old woman, formerly of your lands, passed away in Osgiliath just before I left, a Mrs. Ingrall, though I do not know her maiden name. I believe she was known to your father.”

In a very even, understanding tone, Durnaldar considered that, “I cannot place the name, Mr. Kath. I hope she was a fine example of our citizens.”

“I am sure she was, sir.”

Walking back to the barn Elf ears heard from the house, “Son-in-law! Of all the … I do not understand!” That was cause enough for a Nag-Kath grin.

_____________-------_____________

The easiest ford south was three miles west across the Celduin before it met the Redwater. There was a well-kept merchant road the whole way and he saw traffic in both directions but mostly going north with wine or other edibles. On horse he could have cut corners but the road was fair and full of people who loved to talk. Nag Kath kept Charlo at barely above a walk and made camp around merchant fires.

There is a camaraderie of traveling traders that seems much the same anywhere in the free regions of Middle-earth. Yes, they will risk a black-eye defending their home’s honor, but they have seen enough other homes to understand people do things their own way. Now with thirty orc-free years of hauling their goods back and forth on safe roads, folk were less like the soldier/traders of Tharbad or Dunland when Nag Kath first risked those paths.

He fell in with a train of three wagoners. One was taking barrel hoops to the winelands just west of the lakeshore. Dorwinion was not self-sufficient in iron-mongery. Barrels of wine were shipped north. Some casks were kept to make beer but most were burned and the hoops collected for reuse. 

“I’ll tell you this for nothing!” said trainmaster Endulas in stentorian tones, “The Dorwinrim militia is the best in the world! Why do you ask, lad?”

“Well, Mr. Endulas, my uncle was up with the Gondoran archery trainers and he said the local rabble couldn’t find their backsides with both hands.” Nag Kath had no trouble ‘pulling the longbow’ for a good cause. He needed, among other things, to find out if this place could defend itself if the Easterlings had indeed started raising cavalry mounts on the other side of the inland sea.

“You’re a beardless boy! Bet you’ve never even bedded a woman! I’ll tell you this for nothing; maybe the louts in Brithen can’t hit a target, but you’ll get a fat lip saying that in Riavod!”

“Haven’t been since I was a boy.” Nag Kath knew that young men like to put as much space as possible between their childhood and now. “When do we make the river mouth?”

“See it noon, day after tomorrow.”

The old trader confirmed what Durnaldar thought; the Gondoran influence was limited to the far western corner of the sea. The northern shore was Easterling farmers and fishermen. More importantly, the Usurper’s forces, such as they were, were well north of here so from the river mouth east was nominally controlled by the hereditary Bror on the other side of this pretty flow. 


	16. Hard Diplomacy

**_Chapter 16_ **

**_Hard Diplomacy_ **

We are going east. Maps that will help are: Rhûn Towns and Khand Topo. <https://imgur.com/gallery/jHPlDU8>

When they made the turn above the small delta into the Rhûn, Nag Kath was shocked. There would be no stopping horsed-troops in force from helping themselves to anything they wanted. Why in the world would they bother stealing wispy stalks from well armed Buhr riders when they could dance across the river down here and live large?

The lake, sea as defined here, was massive. He would test it several ways later but it was said to be slightly salty. Like fish of the ocean, local fish were right at home. Nag Kath fared the hoop merchants well and took Charlo at a gallop to the business district of Riavod. 

He found an inn on the shore that catered to gentlemen farmers. It was expensive but nice and full of people with nothing else to do than tell the handsome young man whatever he wanted to know. That included where the Provost office was. He rented a room for a week and rode what turned out to be only three blocks, presenting himself to the desk Sergeant saying he needed a word with the Marshal immediately.

“I am sure you do, boy, but he’s a busy man.”

In no mood to bandy excuses with officious clerks, Nag Kath walked down the hall and entered what he thought was the biggest room just in time to slam the door in the Sergeant’s face. There was a Lieutenant sitting with a decorated Captain at a large table looking at notes. Nag Kath glared at the younger man and growled, “Out!”

The Captain stood and remonstrated, “See here!” He got no further when a beam of yellow, a confusion spell, made him forget the rest of his threat. The changeling hadn't tried it on a person before but there wasn't time for practice. The Lieutenant looked at his superior, decided these two could settle this themselves and joined the sergeant in the hall. Memory recovered, the Captain demanded, “What the devil do you think you’re doing, boy?”

Nag Kath sat in the chair across from the Gondoran and said, “Within the month you can expect five hundred horse and fifteen-hundred, maybe two thousand Easterling infantry to cross the Celduin and start eating grapes.”

The Captain was an instant from throwing the brat out the window but he knew he didn’t have the troops to shovel the stables of such a force. The best he could manage was, “I am a Captain of Gondor!”

“I outrank you. Name’s Nag Kath. I traveled to the Shire with King Elessar this spring and made for Dale when he went to Annúminas for the summer. There I conferred with Kings Bard and Thorin. They have orc activity on the northern border. It is a diversion for what the Thains thought was an attack on the grain harvest by the Usurper Frûnzar across the Redwater. 

“Now I see their real purpose. By reliable accounts, Frûnzar stole most of the horses bred east of the sea and is massing forces out of his brother’s reach. I think they are coming here.” Nag Kath stood to reach in his pocket and pulled the chloer-wood token he never returned from the Dol Amroth adventure. Of course, the King knew nothing of this, but his man in Dorwinion was busy wrestling with expense ledgers and this was the time to set a new tone. He handed it to the Captain and sat down again.

The Captain remained standing and hollered, “Sarn't!”

The desk man should have retired five years ago but he came in spoiling for a fight with the snotty blonde kid. The Captain barked, “This is Nag Kath. Get him anything he wants." The Lieutenant peered in to hear, "You too, Fendülas. Dismissed!

“Kath of the Water?”

“Umhumm.”

“I am Lenös Talfurmir. My brother was one of your surveyors. What do you need from me?”

“I am not sure. I just got here. How many solid men can you field at the river mouth?”

“Precious few. I’ve got a hundred good horse from Anorien and another fifty Rohan mercenaries. They work cheap. Foot? Three hundred at best, and that would mean pulling them from their fields in no mood to fight.”

Nag Kath rubbed his chin, “Let us assume I am not completely wrong in this. Our subjects will fight or they will run. If they run, you’ll need to pull them back further than the Lings want to chase them. I expect this Frûnzar fellow is looking for a capital and will expand after he makes a few examples.”

Captain Talfurmir said plainly, “Let us assume you are not completely wrong. If so, the high end of your strength estimate puts them a hundred miles inland. They can go no further unless they don’t consolidate their takings.”

“Captain Talfurmir, I need to know everything about the Bror and the pretender. My plan is to go see the man. If I can, I will convince him that he does not want his internal squabbles spilling into Gondor or Dale and destroying the peace his people have enjoyed since Erebor.”

The Captain chewed on his moustache and said, “There are folk who should be here. Let us say tomorrow afternoon. That will give me time to issue the … invitations.”

Nag Kath appreciated the man’s position and said, “Thank you. Sorry about coming in so strong but time is not on our side. What should I be doing between now and then?”

Talfurmir walked into the hall and spoke with his clerk for a minute. Returning to his chair he said, “Let us get you some eyes. I’m going to have a lad stop round your inn – the Sea Breeze, yes? – as soon as he can be found. He is an Easterling, but not overfond of how his family was treated. Sharp fellow. I wouldn’t share anything strategic, but if I wanted to get the mood of the market place, I would ask him.”

___________--------__________

The guide was cast in the same mold as Tumlen, small, dark curly hair, a noticer of things around him. Nag Kath was sketching in a chair on the seaside porch of the inn when he approached and gave a slight bow. The Elf looked up and said, “Good morning young man. Have a seat.”

He looked around before sitting. Lings didn’t generally mingle with westerners at the Gondoran Sea Breeze Inn. But if this fellow said it was all right, it was. He wasn’t a lad, more like sixteen with the beginnings of a beard and an earring of silver. He smiled showing a missing eye-tooth but was otherwise unscarred.

Nag Kath reached his picture over so the young man could see it and asked, “What’s your name, my friend?”

“Vegad Druhamel, good sir.”

“Pleasure. I am Nag Kath.” The Elf went back to his drawing, mostly to see what Vegad did with nothing to do. He sat there patiently looking at the drawing and water, interested in how the artist captured colors with shade. Art where he was born was usually in vivid paints. After a few minutes, Nag Kath put the pad in his satchel and slung that over his shoulder as he stood saying, “Let us take a walk.”

They had gone a hundred yards further south before Nag Kath ventured, “Are you from here, Vegad?”

“No, best of sirs. My family came here when I was eight.”

“How do you like it?”

“Better than Rhûbar. More to eat.”

Nag Kath kept his eyes on the road and asked, “Do you have family now?”

“I have a little sister. Mother and father have joined our ancestors, Mr. Kath.”

“I am sorry for your loss, Vegad. I know very little of your people. I would like to know more. Tell me, this lady in the stall, what is she selling?”

“That is gureeq. It is like millet but grows in dryer soil. She sells it as it comes off the stalk or will grind it in that stone bowl to make flour. It keeps longer in the kernel.”

Nag Kath wanted to know what the civilians thought. They would not be the first to know if there was trouble brewing but they would be far from the last. “Do the merchants here come every day?”

“Some, like her, are here every day. Some only come when they have finished goods to sell. They have to take which stalls are available that morning. Some come once a week, depending on the competition, sir”

“That makes sense. Where would I buy a horse?”

Vegad thought about more than came out. “They are rare. People either bring them or do without, mostly do without. I would ask at the stables in the Dorwinrim sectors, some blocks south.”

Nag Kath stopped to look at small brass charms hung on a dry branch. The vendor looked fast enough to catch anyone who snatched one on the way by. The Elf asked the man how much for one in the shape of a heart and was told it was two groats. He got one and put it in his pocket.

When they started walking again Nag Kath said, “I saw a number of people crossing the river this way. That is a hard ford. Is that where people usually come and go?”

Vegad stopped and looked at the Elf. “They are only coming this way now ... and I suspect you know that.”

“I do.”

“What do you need of me, Mr. Kath?

“I am not quite sure yet. Has the provost office arranged for your pay?”

“They gave me a modest advance against your satisfaction.”

Nag Kath turned left towards two fishing boats being repaired on the beach and sat in the sand. Vegad sat next to him. Sure they were out of listening range of any but other Elves, Nag Kath reached into his vest pocket and took out ten silvers. He slipped them into Vegad’s palm. Looking out on the water the Elf said, “If anyone wants to know what you are doing, you are guiding a rich man’s simpleton son around on holiday. I will ask many stupid questions of the people I meet. It is possible some will not appreciate that. Is there someplace safe you and your sister can stay?”

“Several.”

For the first time Nag Kath really looked the young man in the eyes with his pure Elf face. “I need you to tell me about Frûnzar.”

“Third son of Telantish; thankfully rotting these two years. Frunzar is smart, attractive to women and thinks he should have been first son. A good horseman. Men want to be praised by him and he wants high praise in return.”

“Where does he stay?”

“In the Feeruld province upriver. He is from the capital but kept the Bror’s summer home after the split.”

Nag Kath asked, “What else might you have told me about where to get a horse?”

“There are many on the east side of the sea, not that they would sell you one.”

“I thought as much. The Feeruld, is that where the mercenaries are from?”

Vegad had decided to be as helpful as he could. This Nag Kath was a dangerous fellow, but those were nine more silvers than he had ever held at one time and he had no love for the Black Visitors. “They are where you find them, but the Balchoth were mostly in that region.”

Nag Kath tried to glue some of the parts in place. “And they didn’t see eye-to-eye with the dead Bror, yes?”

“You know a great deal for a witless son.”

“Not enough.”

“Yes. They were the cavalry in the old days. When the war ended, their horses were put to the plow or eaten in the famines. They lost their voice in council, waiting for someone with keys to closed doors.”

“How does Frûnzar fit in with the Visitors?”

Vegad spit and touched his mouth twice. Then he looked at the Elf, “Not so witless at all.”

Nag Kath scooped sand in his right palm. It began to glow silver. Grains glistened and circled his hand like tiny stars. The he slowly poured it out leaving trails of light trickling to ground. Vegad did not display any emotion but he never blinked once. The Elf said, “No, not so witless.”

Vegad realized this was the sorcerer champion of the west, a creature who only appeared every generation to continue the age-old battle. He chose sides, “Mr. Kath, I do what I must to care for Hillilea and me. I would like us to both stay alive. But burned in my mind are Visitors whipping my father bloody for lighting candles on Gelansor. I will help you if I can.”

“Gelansor?”

“The last new moon in July.”

“So, what about this bandit prince and the Visitors?”

Vegad gave him chapter and verse about a sect among the Balchoth descendants who yearned for the days of favor by Sauron. They disdained farmers and townsmen and everything else the world had become, trading little pieces of this and that to fill the larder. Now, a genuine leader had emerged who could bend the knees of their central Khans if he could outmaneuver his brother. The difficulty was that first son was no fool and grudgingly shared with folk who appreciated it. Nag Kath listened carefully and interrupted with, “Now, what about those horses?”

“All I know is what people coming west tell me. The old Bror was breeding Puklak horses along the eastern rim. The grazing is good there and he finally had farmers enough to raise and train them. Gold found its way to the right palms and over a week they were ridden to Feeruld across the Bror's holdings. There is poor grain there, but enough. Dale is just over the river and they have fertile lands as far as a man can see.”

Vegad’s first error. He had no reason to praise dry fields so that must be the view of fleeing refugees who had not seen them either. But Frûnzar would certainly know the only grain for more than a month’s loaves was already in the storehouses. So why the pretense of probes in the Buhrs?

Orcs!

Frûnzar had to make the orcs think they would get fed or they had no reason to keep the Thains busy on their borders and unable to come to Gondor’s aid in Dorwinion.

“Vegad, come by my inn after dinner. Meanwhile, find a cozy place for your sister.

After a light meal, Nag Kath and Vegad strolled on the walk between the buildings and the shoreline. Unlike the great seas to the west, this one did not have large waves crashing and shifting the sand. They went to a place Vegad knew where successful Easterlings escaped their wives and were shown a table not far from the kitchen door before ordering a middling local wine.

As arranged, Vegad said, “Please remember, Mr. Solvanth, the local wines are very potent.”

“Nonsense! Nothing to a good red ale!”

“Of course, sir.”

“Now, what is this business about Sauron? My father, bless him, danced on his black grave before he met my ma.”

Other drinkers made the kinds of sounds they could hear over. Vegad said patiently, “It is nothing. Estimable persons think his memory has been sullied unjustly.”

“Hughmmmph! We could never get our salt up north with Dark Lords about. I’ll tell you this,” Mr. Solvanth slurred his speech, “Just let one of those dougshs say otherwise and we will have words! Now, you’re sure the horshes are good?! I don’t want no fuzz-tailed nags, mind.”

“Yes, Mr. Solvanth, prime Rhûn-bred, they are. Very sturdy.”

The blonde man looked like he was having trouble focusing but he managed to say, “That’s a good price. Too good! Wager they’re stolen!” 

“Oh no, sir. Sometimes our army friends across the river have more than they need.”

The drunken merchant slurped his wine and glowered at the cup, “Where’s next? I need a proper ale to take the taste from my mouth.”

His long-suffering guide reminded him, “I think your friend said the Full Sail.”

“Lead on, then! I can’t tell one of these places from another.” They walked into a pleasant night towards a darker part of the high street. Two men near the door dropped groats on the table and gave Solvanth a reasonable head-start.

Vegad said under his breath, “I dearly hope you know what you’re doing, Mr. Kath.”

“Me too.” Then, much louder, “Hold a minute. I need to lose some of that wine.” Nag Kath lurched into an alley and was followed by his loyal guide. The two men crept behind them and Vegad saw a flash of steel. Just then, a pulse of energy bathed in pale, yellow light swept by him making his head swim.

Nag Kath walked back towards the street and said sharply, “Where have you been? We’ve been waiting.”

“One of the assassins groaned from the blackness in poor Westron, “I … I’m not sure.”

Their superior was not pleased. “When are you supposed to get back to the main army?”

The other fellow managed, “We leave in three days.”

“Leave in the morning. When do we secure the ford?” There was no reading their faces but neither said a word. Nag Kath ordered impatiently, “Well, out with it! I need to prepare here.”

The taller of the two said, “Day after Yegraph’s Feast when the Dark Lord’s star is lowest. Same as it’s been.”

Nag Kath relented, “Good work. Go get a cup of wine and forget this conversation.” The two men said in unison, “We hear and obey, Gvordling,” before sheathing their knives and wandering back into the street.

Vegad was glad he did not actually have to relieve himself or he would have. At ease, Nag Kath observed, “That would have been better in your language. Could you tell where these men were from?”

After a moment finding his tongue, Vegad muttered, “Feeruld. Rebels from Feeruld.”

****

**_My dearest Durn,_ **

**_I am in Riavod and enjoying the lovely seaside views. Thank you for recommending I visit._ **

**_There has been a change of plans. Our guests will be coming here rather than to your home for the Feast of Yegraph. It is shocking to think they would have us go through all that trouble and change their minds! I should think my hosts will have a difficult time entertaining such a large family. We are arranging their welcome as I write._ **

**_Of course, you and my son-in-law are always welcome to come with any of your friends. Please tell my family I love them as soon you can._ **

**_In appreciation, NK_ **

_____________------_____________

Captain Talfurmir called the meeting to order. “Gentlemen, this is Mr. Kath of Minas Tirith and Osgiliath. Mr. Kath, these are; Mr. Sundermol, Captain of the local foot militia, Lieutenant Fendülas of the cavalry you’ve met. Captain Fenuldorn of the Rohirrim and Mayor Jurgantis. Mr. Kath has alarming tidings and we need to pay special attention.” He nodded to the Elf.

“Sirs, none of this is expected or certain. I am also a citizen of Dale and was asked by King Bard to investigate orcs along the Iron Hills Road on my way to the eastern Thainholds. They seem to be out of old caves above Erebor and are definitely soldiers, but not in force. Orcs appear to be in league with Easterlings running drills along the east bank of the Redwater, again, not in real force. The harvest will be poor on either side of the river. The Thains are prepared to the extent they can be. I came here to circle the Usurper and make for Kugavod seeking an audience with the new Bror.”

Jaws dropped, except Talfurmir’s. Nag Kath pulled a fierce fever from his brother the surveyor so the Captain knew this unassuming fellow had tricks he hadn’t shown.

Nag Kath continued, “Here is the problem. I now believe the noise along the Redwater is a feint and they intend to ford above here in force, five hundred horse, three or four times that in infantry. I squeezed two spies last night and the attack is set for three weeks from today.”

Mayor Jurgantis was ex-irregular from this district. His family had fought the same foe in the same places since no one kept records. He cleared his throat and said clearly, “We cannot pull the people back in time. I know a little of this Frûnzar and he is looking to create his own land if he cannot have theirs. What Mr. Kath said makes sense.”

The Lieutenant observed, “Our horse cannot do much until they land. The river is low now for lack of rain but getting infantry across is still no easy thing.” He looked to the Rider of Rohan and asked, “Is there news of boats or barges on the eastern shore?”

The man shrugged his shoulders. The Mayor said, “If they launch barges where we can’t see them now, the current won’t get to our side until Tas Surren. The horses can cross above and swim. What we need are archers.” 

Nag Kath followed with, “Then my guess is that the horsemen will come first to secure the landing. I cannot help you much with defenses. You know the river and the bank. Now, more than ever, I need to talk to this Bror fellow and convince him that he doesn’t need King Elessar as an enemy.”

Men of the town would see to defenses. As they left, Captain Talfurmir said, “I got your letter off at first light. I know Durnaldar a little. I will send another asking him to watch for barges should he wander this way sightseeing. It is not their fight.”

“Aye. Blessings be upon us, Captain.”


	17. The Moon of Gelansor

**_Chapter 17_ **

**_The Moon of Gelansor_ **

****

Charlo was ready for exercise. He wasn’t as ready for cold water. Pushed, most horses ford rivers well when they remember to swim. Then they made good time towards the traditional capital of Kugavod. For three days Nag Kath saw only farmers and the occasional merchant until the day before reaching the capital when he was met by a six-troop of lancers under the Bror’s standard. Beardless blonde riders need questioning so the company pulled to a halt and the Sergeant came forward saying in broken Westron, “Your home is far. What is your business?”

“I am on an errand to speak with Bror Dulgov.”

“And why would he be interested in that?”

“My friends think we may have common purpose.”

The man showed an assortment of brown teeth, “You have high friends.”

“They think so.”

“You will ride with us.”

“I will be honored.”

Whatever the troop was doing wasn’t as important as escorting the westerling back to the capital. Other than stopping to water the horses and take relief, they pushed to Kugavod in darkness with only the barest crescent moon. The gate was closed. A sentry on the battlement called down and was given a password. The gate squeaked open enough to let the horses through single file and Nag Kath found himself in a large courtyard lit by occasional torches on stout block walls. Only the Sergeant dismounted and walked over to two men at a smaller gate. One of them went inside and everyone waited where they were.

After a few minutes a man in robes accompanied by two soldiers with torches came out with the sentry. The Sergeant whistled and the trooper next to Nag Kath said, “You come.” Come he did and they rode to the small door before dismounting.

The robed official said in fair Westron, “Please come with me. Your horse and sword remain.” There was never a hope he would get close to any royal bearing arms so there was no reason to protest. He did say the satchel held important papers. They let him keep it after checking for steel. The man and his two torchbearers led Nag Kath through a warren of hallways to a small room. One of the torches was used to light a candle. The robed man said, “Please, be comfortable. We will tell the Bror you come when he wakes.” They left and he heard the unmistakable sound of the lock clicking. It wasn’t a prison cell. It was probably nicer than most people’s homes. Nag Kath pulled off his boots and sat on the cot after blowing out the candle. 

There was no window but he could tell it was probably mid-morning by the light under the door. Another man, in the same sort of robes as the first, slid the bolt and gestured for the Elf to follow between two sizeable guards. He was escorted through a different warren of halls with the light and furnishings getting better at each turn. When they reached an antechamber with an ornate tile floor, his minder turned and said in passable Westron, “I must now ask your business with Bror and who send you.”

“I represent the governments of Dale, Gondor and the Dwarf Halls of the north. My business is difficulty the Bror’s brother may cause between your land and theirs.”

The man repeated Nag Kath’s statement word-for-word before nodding and walking through an open door in front of them. He came out five minutes later and said, “Your bag please.” He got it. “This way.”

The self-appointed Reunited emissary was shown through a long hall into a smaller room on the other side where a large bald man with a thick, braided beard and side-hair was sitting at a huge, plank table eating chicken. His clothes were heavy for the season and had ornate embroidery on the collar and cuffs but were otherwise ordinary. The fellow looked up and licked his fingers before saying in Westron, “You travel far. What can Bror of Rhûn do for august Lords of the West?”

Nag Kath bowed deeply and answered, “A small thorn in the toe, My Lord. Hardly worth troubling you.”

“Untended thorns fester.”

“Indeed.”

“You are here about my brother, yes?”

“We are concerned he may not honor your lawful inheritance and seek lands ruled by friends of the true Bror.”

“And what is that to me?”

“Nothing, if he fails.”

The Bror wiped his mouth with his sleeve and took a slurp of something in a large, jeweled goblet. Collecting his thoughts he growled, “And if he succeeds?”

"Then your lands have old enemies again. Worse if one of them is your brother.”

Dulgov wiped his face with a real napkin and observed, “I do not think the Thains of Dale stand to lose much after so little rain.”

“Methinks south, Lord Bror. His troops are set to invest Dorwinion the day after Yegraph’s Feast. He purposes to attack Gondor.”

Setting aside any notion of banter, the Bror put his thumb and forefinger to either side of his mouth and sent a piercing whistle through the air. Immediately, two more sentries came in the door Nag Kath had entered. The man told them something in their tongue and they disappeared. Then he swished whatever was in the goblet in his mouth and swallowed before rising and walking to his guest.

“If you are lying, it will take you a long time to die. What is your name?”

“Nag Kath, Lord Bror.”

The man had a hard look at his guest before shaking his head and saying to himself in Rhûnic, “Too young.”

A proud officer walked through the door receiving nods from both the interior guards and presented himself to the Bror on one knee. His liege said, “Rise.” The man straightened up with his helmet under his arm.

“This foreigner says my confused brother thinks to cross the Kelduash and take land in Dorwinion. Why have I not heard of this from you?”

The officer blanched slightly but held his ground, “I cannot say, Excellency. We are still seeing patrols well inland. He must move much closer to the river than he has been.”

They were speaking in the common-tongue so this was for the benefit of the foreigner. The Bror turned to Nag Kath and ordered, “Explain why you claim this.”

“Your unfortunate brother has been in league with orcs to the north, promising them food for harrying Dalish Thains. All the while, he masses troops in Feeruld along with considerable horsemen so as not to be confined to your eastern lands. If the infantry is to cross fully armed, I would seek barges to follow the current to Tas Surren after the cavalry has forded to make safe the landing. The barges will either be there or they won’t.”

The Bror got very close to Nag Kath. That move usually had him tower over his own people but he had to speak up at the Elf, “And if you were me, you would destroy the barges?”

“I dare not presume to think as Bror of your people.”

“And if you did?”

Nag Kath thought a little challenge would help, “I would get my horses back.”

The Bror’s face changed colors twice before he blurted to the officer, “You heard the man.” Relieved to be out of Dulgov’s withering stare, the officer nodded curtly and marched out the way he came. 

“Kath, you will remain here until this is certain.”

“I look forward to my stay, Lord Bror.

___________--------__________

Nag Kath was handed his satchel and led to a gate just outside the palace. He expected to be taken back to his room but instead waited alone for quite a while until a man in ordinary clothes silently waved him to follow. They walked past what seemed to be a proper gaol for at least another half mile to a large, oval walled-compound. Entering a sturdy gate he saw four huts spaced around the walls with an ill-kept garden of flowers and vegetables on one end. He thought this was the detention area for people who might have to be produced alive later. 

Surprisingly, the little quill knife in his pocket was not taken. He turned to ask the guard which hut was his but the fellow had already shut the gate. Nag Kath was the only one here. Inside the nearest structure he peered inside finding a mug, basin and a serving bowl with a crude wooden spoon. There was also a dusty blanket on the planks for a bedroll. 

Wandering outside, a small rivulet, surprisingly clean, gurgled from a grate in the northern wall towards the garden. The Elf went back to the hut to get his basin and washed his face as it filled. He also took stock. The walls around the oval measured about forty paces on the long dimension. They weren’t uniform in height but never less than fourteen feet. It would be no trouble to scale and escape but he would leave with the clothes on his back. 

Cucumbers and squash were ripe and there was some sort of cabbage that seemed edible. Assorted berries were almost ready. It would be hard for a man to live on that but an Elf could make due if no one brought anything else. He had Lembas in the bag. Nag Kath got his sketch board out and started doodling pictures of the lilies. His eye was out. Angles were wrong. Perspective was uncertain. Perhaps it was just boredom.

At about high sun, an old man shuffled out of the hut across from his and bowed. He was bald and beardless but had good teeth and used them in an almost constant smile. There was more than a drop of Khandian blood that gave him an olive complexion in contrast to the pasty Northmen and pale Nag Kath.

“Good day, young man.”

“Good day to you, sir.”

“You are newly arrived, yes?”

Nag Kath squinted in the sun, “This morning. I may be here some time.”

“I have been here three weeks.” The old boy looked at the sketch pad and wondered, “Are you writing your verses for Gelansor? I do mine by memory, but not as well as I did.”

The Elf walked over to show him the flowers and said, “No, sir. I am new to these lands and only just heard of Gelansor. I hope I have not caused offense.”

The small man grinned, “There are few who remember now, but fewer who write, so I guessed.”

Nag Kath remembered his manners; “I would offer you tea but I haven’t any. You are welcome to join me for conversation. Please, tell me of Gelansor.”

The old boy held up a finger and announced, “I have tea, of a sort. One does with what one has. If you will bring your basin? Just a moment.” He turned towards his hut and slowly but purposefully made his way back in the open door. Nag Kath collected his large bowl and they met a minute later. The old boy explained, “I pinch leaves and leave it in the sun.”

“Nag Kath went back into his hut for his mug while the elder stirred the leaves. When the Elf returned, each dipped their mugs in the bowl. The elder savored the taste before saying, “Close your eyes and imagine it is Telandren.” After another sip, “Those who still speak my name call me Orlo.”

“I am called Nag Kath. It is a pleasure to meet you, Orlo. I hope your quarters are comfortable.”

“I have stayed in worse, though they have no notion how to fillet the seehar fish correctly, northerners being what they are.” He took another sip, “Alas, my brother-in-law is Khan of Mistrand and it seems there were irregularities with tax receipts. I am visiting while the Bror’s clackers check the ledgers.”

The Elf empathized, “Oh dear, are you the collector?”

“Heavens no. I am a retired boat-wright. But someone must come as the Bror’s guest to guarantee fealty. The Khan’s daughter is a foolish creature with a foolish husband, scarcely worthy of the Bror’s hospitality.” Nag Kath thought that the most graciously explained detention he ever heard. Orlo continued, “My wife is long past such cares and my own daughter, be she blessed by Those Named, is a simple girl who lives out of reach.”

The Elf could hop the wall with the Bror’s scalp if he wanted, but he was here for information and to favor the more moderate eastern neighbor. Gently nudging he said, “I fear troubles with Bror’s brother have brought me to this lovely garden.”

Orlo took a sip of the weak tea and thought aloud, “Brothers can be trouble. I never had a brother. My sister made a good match all those years ago. She is a clever woman but did not produce a son. The Khan’s concubine did. He finds the woman silly and has my sister tell him stories.”

Nag Kath admitted, “I have no brothers or sisters. But I have known many families where brothers live as friends.”

“Yes, but everyone has to agree that no one gets all, else hard feelings stew. A man with two fish will give his brother one, but a man with two lands will not. It is a confusion.”

Nag Kath gently steered, “Orlo, you said you live on a river.”

“Yes, yes, an unlovely brown ditch that comes from grudging hills. It silts the inlet and the fish, in their wisdom, breed vastly. I made boats to catch them when I moved more quickly.”

The Elf added to the thread, “I forded a river on the northwest corner of the sea. My horse and I got a good soaking for our pains.”

Orlo touched his chin with his finger and said, “Yes, that is a real river. I have not been there in a generation but I should imagine it is the same now.”

Nag Kath fed-out a little more line, “Another man crossed the other way when I did. He was riding a small, hairy horse but it swam well and did not shy at the water.”

Orlo considered that, “Those are the horses bred along the eastern shore, above Kelepar. That is the grazing land of Rhûn. I have never owned a horse but those are said to be good-natured and easy to feed. I know more of boats. If you live on a sea, you must know boats!” The old man brightened saying, “Of course, he could have easily taken a barge across the inlet of the sea like any number of merchants.”

The little blood coloring Nag Kath’s face drained into his stomach. Had he sent Dorwinion’s paltry defense upriver while the enemy leisurely floated across the little bay? His circulation returned when Orlo continued, “Of course they have to pay the tax. His Excellency the Bror keeps good troops on the north bank, and the winds blow east this time of year. I had forgotten that.

“If you will excuse me, young Nag Kath. I should rest and finish my recitations. Perhaps if your business with the Bror’s family is not completed, we can speak again.”

“Until then, Mr. Orlo.”

_____________------_____________

Nag Kath had an unsettled rest. He slept, for no apparent reason, and woke well after dawn. Breakfast was what he picked. He ate a little. After a stretch he started sketching Orlo’s hut directly across from his, mostly for lack of anything else to do. The drawing was poor. Contrasts were sloppy.

He wondered if he was getting sick. Orcs didn’t get sick. They simply fell when weakness overtook them. Since no one would help, that’s where they died. Elves weren’t supposed to get ill either, but perhaps they were only immune to the maladies where they lived. None of them ever lived among Easterlings. No, his own color tested pure. He tried wakeful rest again and drifted away.

It must have been early afternoon when Orlo eased out onto his porch and sat on the only step with his tea. Nag Kath shook himself awake and walked over with what he hoped was a passable bow. “Good morning Mr. Orlo.”

“Just Orlo, young man. You seem unsettled.”

“Something in the water, perhaps. I’ll be well soon enough.”

“Good. No news of the Usurper?”

That was a change. Anyone above ground knew of the squabble but the old boy had made only the most general references to tensions when they met. Nag Kath contemplated that and answered, “No, I think it may be some time. His Excellency has extended his courtesy while he verifies my peoples’ concerns.”

“His Excellency is a considerate host. If you can bring more water, I have more tea.” Orlo rose with the help of a steadying hand on the roof post and went inside, returning a minute later. The Elf filled his basin at the stream and returned, placing it in the sun next to their feet. Orlo crushed leaves from a bag in his robe and floated them on the surface.

They swirled in eddies and currents, almost like fish-pools on a stream. Orlo grumbled, “Needs more leaves.” Reaching into his pocket he pulled the bag and a five-groat copper fell into the water. When the old man achingly started to stoop for it, Nag Kath courteous reached into the water and handed it to him. 

That triggered an involuntary water test. It was clean. It was cleaner than clean. There was something there. He examined the stream on arrival and felt nothing. Retrieving the coin showed the faintest silver. The old man stared but was not alarmed. Nag Kath wasn’t sure how long he stood peering at the floating leaves forming patterns in his mind – like the colors of the Huntsman. It seemed only a few seconds but when he looked up, Orlo was already sitting on his porch-step. The Elf wandered over to hear, “Tea is civilized. I would ask you to remember the little things, young Nag Kath.”

“Orlo, you mentioned Gelansor. What is that?” Nag Kath just opened a large jar of learning that would take years to explore. He would be very glad he did, primarily because it gave great insight into his own life’s work. In the here-and-now it also hurried creeping time in the small compound. 

Orlo began, “You are a stranger so I will start before my time. The Easterlings of the south sea are quite different from the north. We were all part of the Balchoth rising, but deserts are different than woods. You see mostly Northmen in the woods.” Orlo took a better look at Nag Kath’s smooth face and continued, “You are no Northman either, but this may still apply.

“There are many ancient stories of our creation. It was said, some claim written, that great lords of power were imagined to shepherd feeble men, or Elves in their day. They lived in fertile lands of plenty without want. Even then they argued, just like his Excellency and his noble brother, causing ruin and pain.

“But out here, fanciful tales of green lands bearing fruits one can pick at will brought disdain. Legends of these creatures never included drought or watching babies choke on dust. Men of dry lands need their own lords and demons to explain our lot in life. Mind you, I am of Mistrand, which is paradise compared to the sands of Mordor. The dark lord was no friend of rain.”

The boatwright drifted into thought. The Elf tried to keep that thread alive wondering, “Can one blame them? It is hard to heap praise on beings that did no better by the subjects here.”

Orlo gave him the most curious look and then put his finger on his chin again, “Now, where was I? Oh yes, Gelansor is the three days of the July new-moon when those of us who keep faith light candles through the night and offer prayers that our fields and women may be fertile. Now, your newer adherents sometimes write their own halting script for the occasion.” He looked into Nag Kath’s eyes for emphasis. “Some of the needed tales have yet to be written.” Less intensely; “Older fellows like myself recall the original verses so those spirits can find us. I fear I used my candle already.”

“You are welcome to mine, if I have one.”

“I have already found offerings in all four of the huts, forgive me.”

“Apology accepted.”

“Thank you.”

Nag Kath probed gently, “It does not seem Frûnzar is a keeper of candles,” mentioning the usurper’s name for the first time.

“No, he believes in himself, as one who would be Bror must.”

“Does he not have supporters that wish for old ways?”

Orlo looked again at Nag Kath’s face. His eyes were better than most people his age. The question gave him pause. “Well, if you are here I suppose you know enough to know more. The eastern bank of the Kurnug was where our Balchoth riders held sway, fierce and terrible men who carried the standard.

“They were warriors and favored of Sauron for centuries. They were also the first to die when the orcs of Angbad shriveled like peppers at the Dwarf gate. Such of them as survived were left the worst lands and ate their horses after their children. Your people saw no need to chase enemies east of the sea or demand tribute where none grew. Wainriders, not the first but the renamed, sought seats at council but were denied. So they waited and schemed and finally found the son of a Bror, a son who would heed their petitions.

“Of course, that was not enough. They reordered Those Named to their own purpose but could not replace the Dark One.” Orlo changed to a more practical voice, “After centuries of favor by Sauron; that was a large gap to fill. Now, some claim congress with the dark lord’s spirit and use that to exhort men to glories only graybeards remember.”

The youngster played naïve, “I understand there is a holiday coming based on the Dark Lord’s star.”

“Oh, so you have heard of that. Yes, a ritual wise men would avoid.”

“I am not familiar with that star, my friend. Perhaps we of the west know it by a different name.”

“The Evenstar.”

The Elf knew which one now. “Oh yes! I have drawn it many times. The Queen of Gondor is named after it; Arwen Undómiel.”

Orlo looked shocked for a moment and muttered absently, “Her grandfather.” The old boy seemed lost in thought and then saw Nag Kath looking at him intensely. Hoping to cover the lapse, “All queens in lands of men are the daughters of night stars. How else could they shine brightly on their peoples?”

Knowing nothing of eastern religion, the changeling thought it part of their faith and returned to his purpose, “I should think the wise would avoid association with returning dark lords.”

“They should! But their lives were better when they were servants of war. Now they are esteemed beneath farmers and peddlers.”

Nag Kath pushed his luck, “There were many on the wrong side of history. I hope they do not have the ability to remake new dark lords.”

Orlo fixed his eyes on the Elf again, assessing, but in good cheer, “They try, summoning forces from remaining humors. These recent rascals claim powers from earth and sea. My own view is that they would make their livings hiding peas under clam shells in the market if they did not find employment exhorting hungry soldiers! Mordor still has evil spirits remaining. Only someone of right-living could go there to destroy them. But the temptation to fall to their corruption and join them is great. Such a man must be strong and resolute!”

The Elf said thoughtfully, “Yes, I have not been everywhere but it seems most places have folk who claim congress with the dead or powers unavailable to everyday folk in exchange for a few groats. I personally know of an old woman who could take sickness away, though it made her ill in the bargain.”

“Houlars! Mistrand has one. She is a crafty old villain but she will heal a fever for coppers. That is a hard life, young Nag Kath. It wears them to skin and bone.”

“I remember the woman being gaunt and in poor humor.”

Orlo slapped his knee and chuckled in agreement.

Nag Kath became theatrically serious for his next foray, “There are tales of fell spirits that still live in hollows of old forests. You may not have seen those but there are places as big as this sea to the west filled with old and cunning trees. They are of no better temper.”

Orlo seemed lost in memory for another moment then became grave, “Forests, seas, deserts, they all have powers, some smarter than others. I was in the east when Sauron and his servants were slain. That seemed to be the end of all power. It was not – though it rained three years in bounty, so someone took pity on us. I returned home. Fish found their way on deck and we prospered. But until I see my home again, I will make rhub tea and wait patiently.”

Orlo smiled and went back inside to say auspices. 

Nag Kath’s third morning started exactly like the last after a another night of strange dreams. Was it something in the air? Orlo’s tea seemed ordinary rhub leaves, bitter but with some fragrance. 

Orlo was already in the garden picking blueberries, now just ripe, and then returned to his porch. The old man’s hut faced east. Nag Kath sauntered over and offered him his floppy hat, which the man politely declined before saying, “I do hope the clackers are making progress, young Nag Kath.”

“I am sorry, Orlo. What is a clacker?”

“Those who use the counting beads. Wait here.” He carefully rose pushing his palm on the rude porch floor and returned holding a small wooden rack. It had eleven wood balls sliding on each of twelve thin swamp-reed rods. Another rack strut was above center with another ball. “You see, here is one.” He slid a bead from the top of the rack to the bottom. “Two, three and so forth. When you get to twelve, you move the bead up here and start over.”

The Elf said, “We do something like that with marks on a tablet or slate, though it is a count of ten for the change.”

Orlo fingered his chin and thought, “I suppose all people must do something.” The chin again, “Ten? Five does not divide ... this is much faster. When you push them around they make a clacking sound, like this.” He placed them according to his count and showed it to Nag Kath saying, “There, now you can remember.” He held it perfectly still in-front of the confused Elf for quite a while. The Elf used a clarity spell on himself to fight-off the sensation. Orlo observed him carefully before cautioning, “Clacker is not the preferred title for their earnest labors, should you share wine with one.”

Changing the subject, Nag Kath asked, “Is today the end of Gelansor?”

“Sundown. After three nights, men will bed their wives. I remember enjoying that. No spirit ever spoke to me, though. Some are more sensitive to their call. Others pretend favor. I have eaten well and have grandchildren who are smarter than their parents. They will go forth in the world. 

“Yesterday’s tea is drinkable. Shall we indulge?”

“Thank you Orlo. It seems the Bror does not have many guests if it is just us.”

Both inmates scooped the last of the yellow liquid into their mugs. Orlo thought about the Bror’s hospitality and said, “This is the best he has. Other places of confinement do not have gardens.” Orlo sipped his tea and muttered, “It seems you are favored. The Bror usually lets people confined here leave alive.”

“Have you been here before?”

“No, but I know some who have. We are not here for our own transgressions.”

Nag Kath wondered how long it would take to investigate his claim. If they had confirmed nothing useful, they would come with swords drawn. Using the ‘Fast’ he would be armed when he jumped the wall. It would bode better for defenders of Dorwinion if there was no Easterling host. Orlo said, “That is encouraging, young Nag Kath. I hope I will not be made an example to cheating Khans around the sea.”

In the first Elf Lord face Orlo had seen, Nag Kath said, “I will need to leave shortly regardless of the outcome. I would be glad to release you as well.”

“You are young and optimistic, as we should all be at your age. A man of my years can only return to his life. That would be short and uncomfortable without a favored leaving.” Less in the tone of village Elder, Orlo whispered, “Two guards circle the compound taking one hundred and seventy paces each time. When they relieve themselves, it is behind the hut to the right.” He became very grave, “Remember; in leaving heroes can not always take the straight path.” The instruction seemed to echo in the Elf’s muddled head.

Nag Kath was fairly sure that whatever path he took would be in a hurry if it came to that. “Thank you, Orlo. I worry that going without the Bror’s leave might expose you to fury they cannot use on me.”

“You might punch me in the mouth before you go to show I feebly tried to restrain you.” The man had a penetrating look of his own, “Come and visit me someday when this business is settled. Ask my name in Mistrand.”

“What is the discrepancy between your honored brother-in-law’s ledger and His Excellency’s?”

“Four Florin and change, far beyond any but a Lord’s ability to pay.”

They spent some of the afternoon talking too but Orlo went inside before dusk to say his prayers while Nag Kath helped himself to the remaining blueberries.

He slept late. Orlo did not appear at his usual time. The Elf washed his face and then knocked on the elder’s door at about noon. With no answer he peered inside and the hut was empty. Hopefully the old boy’s relatives made good on their debt and the man was returned to his dirty river. 

That started another eight days of absolutely nothing. Time seemed to crawl by at times yet went quickly at others. The changeling continued to sleep but only drank water, Orlo having taken his tea leaves with him. He was sick of squash and cucumbers. His disorientation lessened but never left. On the twelth morning in the compound, a soldier appeared at the gate and looked around as if after a long search. Spotting the guest, he approached and said, “The Bror has been looking for you. Where have you been?”

“Here.”

The man looked around the compound again and shook his head. “Come with me.” Nag Kath collected his satchel and followed the soldier out the gate. 

_____________------_____________

He was taken to the same dining area before the same Bror who was eating again. The man said, “Sit.” Nag Kath did so after bowing. “Much as I hate to admit it, my esteemed brother had been building barges on the river. Someone accidentally cut them from their moorings and they floated to the sea where will be found other uses for them.” The Bror looked up with sage lordship, “Such things are not wasted in my kingdom.

“Now, we did not find the horses. Prints, yes. Hooves, no. What do you make of that?”

“They are upstream distracting Dale. If I commanded, Lord Bror, I would ford the horses further upriver and ride them down to secure the barge landing in stealth. They would have to discourage merchants they found from telling tales.” 

“I agree. You seem uncannily knowledgeable for one of tender years.”

“Not so tender, My Lord.”

“Perhaps.”

Nag Kath said respectfully, “If I may be so bold; this is a good time to let your friends in Gondor know that any incursion on that soil is not of your making.”

“Again, we agree. My fellow Lord Kings, friends in western lands, need not be concerned that the rightful Bror of Rhûn is, as you said, a thorn in the toe.”

Nag Kath chose his words carefully, “They may also be impressed that the rightful Bror has been the steel anvil for the hammer of friendship.”

“That gives you seven days to share such glad tidings, Nag Kath. Much as I would keep that horse as a gift from your people, you will need him.”

“Kingly acts deserve kingly praise, Lord Bror. Forgive my impertinence but I would like to make amends for certain tax irregularities by the Khan of Mistrand.”

The Bror stiffened a little and growled, “The weasel is light …” he adjusted his estimate “… two Florin! I would not be Bror long were it known I condone such larceny!”

That was cheaper than Orlo thought, “I should think two Florin a bargain for such gracious hospitality. I will settle the bill with my own funds after your Excellency has dismissed me.”

Bror Dulgov was gracious, “It is the custom of our peoples that others may pay the debts of friends and family honorably. Your offer is accepted.”

“If I may ask, My Lord, I am curious if your inquiries found any who claim congress with dead dark lords.” He recalled Orlo’s contention that there were dark ones still in the bowels of Mordor. “My superiors would like to discourage that.”

“As it happens, Mr. Kath, our fellows did speak with one such. Two houdg (troopers) will conduct you to him, or what is left of him. I will instruct the commander to share his findings.” He nodded to a senior guard. “Please also take these letters to my friends in the west. I have not been as good a correspondent as I will be. Safe travels, young man.”

Nag Kath bowed and was walked out to Charlo.

_____________------_____________

It took three hard days to reach the barge site but it was only a few hours from his ford on the Celduin. The Bror's main army must have been keeping between the rebels and capital to get here this fast. Prints went north from here. 

Nag Kath’s escort presented a sealed letter from the Bror’s scribe to the sentries who passed it unopened to a Lieutenant charged with burning bodies with barge-wood. He looked at it and said, “You are just in time.” He pulled his head summoning a large, swarthy warrior armed with a whip and axe. In Rhunish he ordered, “Telugh, this man is authorized to ask questions of the dark Visitor. Fiel may be of use. Take both.”

The Visitor was in a tent pitched well away from the headquarters, tied to a post, sitting in his own ordure. The inquisitor Fiel did not fit the usual description of a grim torturer. He seemed an ordinary soldier. Nag Kath looked in the flap first and asked him in Westron, “Has he shared anything useful?”

“Nay. He raises the blood of fighters.”

“Anything about sorcery?”

“He called it down on us for our blasphemy. Haven’t seen any yet.”

Nag Kath nodded and went inside alone.

The Visitor was a man of about thirty. He had been handsome. Lips were stuck together with dried blood so Nag Kath went back out for his canteen and a rag before returning to crouch beside the figure. The prisoner was motionless but alert. Nag Kath wet the cloth to wipe the man’s face and then slowly dribbled water in his mouth. Laying the canteen in plain view he began, “You are a Visitor of the Dark One, yes?”

The man looked at him with disgust and spat the precious water on Nag Kath’s hand. The Elf had no experience extracting information by force and this fellow was now beyond inducement through pain. The threat of death was welcome. Nag Kath gave him a longer drink, sure that Fiel had teased him with the same or played the kindly gaoler for sympathy. Nag Kath only needed him able to move his tongue.

As with the two advance men in the alley, a pale pulse of energy left the Elf’s hand towards the prisoner’s face. The Visitor blinked. Nag Kath said softly, “I am sorry for your misfortune. I come from those we honor. Were there many men here?”

The man tried to resist, possibly even magical resistance, but then he swallowed for the first time in a day and rasped, “Horsemen and soldiers. Building, waiting.”

“Yes, they do the work that is needed. When did the horsemen leave?”

The man was fighting blood oaths in training to resist unbelievers. Another pulse of yellow confusion shook him and his eyes calmed. “Before the pig troops reached us. I have not seen the sun to tell.”

“Good, then they are away from the corrupt Bror. Rightful Bror Frûnzar is safe?”

The man nodded which earned him another drink. Nag Kath said in an other-worldly voice, **_“Dooshs kum dellor khazûn fuul.”_** It had no effect. He tried again in Westron, “The Dark Lord honors the faithful.”

The prisoner made a bare smile. Nag Kath asked him, “How may I praise your men to him?”

That hit a nerve but Nag Kath’s spell was too strong, “Summon him,” licking his lips, “summon him from the glyph.”

“The pig soldiers may have already desecrated it.”

“Rock … fifth rock from pit. He calls to us. Defend … claim …”

Nag Kath stalked out of the tent and said to the sentry, “No one goes in.” He made his way over to the saw pit on the bank and relieved himself. Pretending to drop something, he came back up holding a flat stone about three by five inches with crude runes carved into one side. The Elf made a show of checking his trouser buttons and walked back to the hulking guard outside the tent saying, “I have what I need.”

______________-------______________

Nag Kath ran Charlo hard enough to reach the lower ford before dark with enough energy left to swim across. It took another hour in twilight to make Riavod which gave the magnificent horse a chance to catch his breath. Nag Kath took Charlo to the stable himself, rousting the stable-boy to ensure good care before carrying his bags into the inn. His bag had been searched. The confusion spell on the purse-pouch must have worked. Pausing only for a quick meal and tea, he walked to the provost office and told the sentry to find the Captain. Everyone on duty knew to make double-time as soon as the blonde man showed his face. The sentry unlocked the door to let Nag Kath enter and then left to tell his boss.

That took about twenty minutes so Nag Kath tried wakeful rest. Before discarding the thought, he hoped the Easterlings would give the Visitor a quick end. They are a practical people and would think no more of it than dousing a campfire.

Captain Talfurmir was in full uniform when he sat next to the filthy, wet Elf. “Honestly didn’t expect to see you again, Nag Kath. Why don’t you talk first.”

“Spent two weeks as the Bror’s guest. Wasn’t so bad, really. Talked quite a bit with an old fellow from the south who told me about how the Balchoth settled the east and weren’t rewarded for their pains. That’s who’s coming. The Bror destroyed the infantry on his land and scattered the barges. Here is where it gets touchy; he did not find his horses. I would not be surprised if they are either upstream waiting to ford or have already done so. Are merchants still arriving from the Dale Road?”

“Got some today. Nobody mentioned two columns of Easterling cavalry.”

Nag Kath nodded slowly, “Well, that’s something. Any word from the Buhrs?”

“Not yet. If we get an answer, or help, it will come down the same road, and they will look for broken branches. Let me tell you of preparations here: I have the cavalry camped above where you forded. The Rohirrim complained until I reminded them they took the money. Word has been sent to Brilthen, my sister command. They are farmers too but if Easterlings are threatening in force, they know they are next. I don’t know Captain Cestlend very well. He’s new. The runners are to stay there until he says yes.

“We had a look across the inlet too in case they thought to barge from there. The wind is wrong if they use sails and the current is strong enough to float them in plain sight without oars. That’s the Bror’s territory. Unless he is acting the innocent, his brother will get no quarter there. Our friends visiting family on the east bank are always watching.”

Talfurmir worked down his list, “I’ve got twenty horse reminding the militia that training started yesterday. They don’t like leaving their grapes. Those men are forming up now.”

Nag Kath nodded and said, “You do your esteemed brother proud. I could not ask for more. In the morning, let us go upriver and look for the pinch if cavalry is coming this way. Of your infantry, how many are archers?”

“Not many. Fifty or sixty, but they’re good with longbows. Cestlend should bring more. In our favor, if those horses have to swim the river, they won’t be armored.”

“Then I won’t keep you, Captain. Get some sleep and we’ll see about slowing them down in the morning. They might not even know their foot soldiers aren’t coming.” Nag Kath smiled for the first time, “I have some surprises for them either way.”

“Kath of the Water, when we have time for ale, I want to hear this story. I hope it is told for a hundred years.”


	18. Thunder on the River

**_Chapter 18_ **

**_Thunder on the River_ **

It rained that morning. This was not the season and it wasn’t much of a storm, but everyone in uniform was miserable. Charlo was tired for the first time in his life. Riding back up the merchant road they saw a team of wagons plodding along under the King’s peace with Lieutenant Fendülas behind them. The teamsters waved nervously. 

This was Tas Surren where the river current swung to their side. Fording horsemen would know that. Talfurmir called to his cavalry chief, “Any riders from the north?”

“Nay, Captain. All quiet.”

Talfurmir muttered, “I suppose that is good. Nag Kath, if I had five hundred cavalry without infantry or artillery support, I would cross them eight miles upstream. The river widens as the cliffs give way to mud banks for two miles. Below us, they can’t get up the bank.” 

Fendülas called, “I sent a six-troop up there yesterday with orders to ride like the wind if shaggy horses start swimming west.”

Talfurmir pinched his lips on his moustache and declared, “Here is where we stop them. Lieutenant, you have command of the cavalry. I need to stay here. Have the men dig and spike trenches to either side of the road. Archers behind those, cross-firing up the road. Cavalry to the rear for the ones that make it through or to drive in if they make a stand.” As an afterthought he shouted, “Have your riders dig pot holes while they wait.”

The first infantrymen started arriving with spears in one hand and shovels in the other. Men with axes chopped and sharpened branches. Mayor Jurgantis was seeing to provisions. They would eat whatever he found. Tents were moved out of view. The weather cleared. Ominously, no more merchants appeared that day and none were allowed north. They grumbled but left and were told to keep their mouths shut. One lucky fellow sold his cargo of salted-pork then and there. 

Nothing happened the next day except their woolens finally dried. One of the militias from the west bank of the Rhûn arrived to reinforce the local men. The pork and food brought from town was better than usual soldier’s fare. Men waited and wished their love to families. If Easterlings were coming, those loved ones were only twelve miles away. The next morning was clear and fair. It was the day before the enemy infantry assault was scheduled. If Nag Kath was in charge and thought the foot soldiers would leave tomorrow, he would ford the cavalry at dusk. 

A lonely wagon rolled up. The teamster and his son enjoyed a leisurely breakfast at dawn thinking to make the rest of the trip well before dinner. The drover looked at the soldiers and joked in good humor, “Well, change my underclothes if you aren’t fearsome fellows!”

Sarn't Guilforn of the Fourth replied, “Hello Travid. What news from the road?” 

“Nothing going up.” Looking at the troopers, “I expect you know that.”

Travid would have been in the militia call-up if he wasn’t working. Lieutenant Fendülas said, “This is real, Travid. Easterling cavalry might be headed this way. If you and Benvier have your bows, settle your animals and fall-in.” The man looked at his son, nodded and pulled his rig downstream with the other wagons. They were back shortly with their weapons. No other wagons came but Cestland’s Dorwinions arrived from the south hot and stinking. His archers better than doubled the men defending the trenches. They looked far more competent than Nag Kath’s goad to the wagoner coming down.

An hour before dusk, Corporal Warno and his five men sped into camp. Fendülas walked out and heard, “They’re coming. It was hard to count but I’d say closer to four hundred rather than five. Viggas got a better look.”

Trooper Viggas panted, “Half spears, half swords. Not many bows. They’ll have to replace the strings in the dark. I stayed long enough to watch the first of them climb the bank. They were spread the whole length and I think a few went too far and are trapped in the canyon walls. I put them an hour away.”

Talfurmir shouted, “We’re in it now, lads. We’ve got angry Lings coming down the road. Everyone knows what to do. Hold your positions because we can’t reform. Fight for your families.”

Nag Kath said, “I will be watching.” With that, he took his art tube upriver. Sooner than Viggas thought, hooves thundered their way. 

_____________------_____________

In the encroaching darkness, a red comet shot drunkenly across the sky. The men of Dorwinion were startled but were told to expect the unexpected. Further north, horses and riders were unnerved. The comet is the ultimate disaster in Rhûn and here was one racing over their heads at what should be their moment of glory! Some men broke ranks and dismounted to offer contrition for man’s faults. Officers screamed at them to ride or die. They got back in the saddle but the formation was now in shambles. As they approached, pitch-trenches were lit by brave Dorwinens waiting alongside the road. Another comet of pure silver helped light them as Cestland's archers began pouring arrows into their flanks. 

Ling officers in front sounded the charge to get past the barrage only to trip in the spiked ditches. Their next line followed them into the pits or pulled up as easy targets for the second and fire-at-will volleys. Allied cavalry closed in from beside the road to take those breaking through.

The enemy’s second wave had to slow when the first stalled at the trenches and then looked back in horror as one hundred and twenty cavalry closed the trap from the north. The northern allied van engaged the last ranks of the Easterling cavalry until the Ling commander sounded the horn to press south, hoping that reinforcing his forward column would let them punch through. They got the same treatment in the pot holes and ditches as arrows rained in from both sides. 

Perhaps a dozen stragglers broke through the rear cavalry pincer and rode for their lives. Others crawled into the hills to be captured or die later. By torchlight, the Easterlings had one hundred forty dead or dying, ninety who might live and the rest captured or soon to be.

Nag Kath was sorry for the horses killed or that needed to be put down in the spike pits. Something like a hundred of them would be dinner for the next few nights. The rest charged off in all directions or milled about, neighing for solace.

As the Dorwinions secured their prisoners, officers rode up in the gloom from behind the lines. One called, “Permission to enter Gondor, sir.”

Talfurmir smiled broadly and answered, “Permission granted, Lords of Dale. Glad you could come.”

Nag Kath walked up with his bow and bowed to the host. Durnaldar looked at his son and grinned, “There was no missing those rockets.”

Nag Kath announced, “Captain Talfurmir, may I introduce my son-in-law Reyald Conath, Lieutenant Freers of Fanüel and Mr. Edelbras, a gentleman of Dale.” 

The Captain said, “It is my pleasure, sirs. Truly.”

Horses and men were screaming in pain so this was no time for chat. Talfurmir shouted, “Spears on the prisoners in circles. Hands bound. Keep ‘em quiet until we can see what we’re doing.”

Nag Kath walked over to a bleeding officer who hoped his uniform would not stand-out by torchlight and said, “You, what’s your name?”

“Captain Turradin Pen-Sollaag.”

“Stand up, Captain.” He did on a game leg.

The Elf said softly, “Which one’s Frünzar?”

The officer nodded his head slightly to his left. The Elf looked over and saw a well-fitted knight breathing his last with a goose-quill arrow through his lung. He walked to the man and knelt beside him. “Anything you want said in your memory?”

The man smiled and shook his head. It was the last thing he ever did. Nag Kath stood and said to the other prisoners, “He will be returned to your lands with respect.” Then to Captain Pen-Sollaag; “Tell your men hiding in the bushes that they should come out now and accept such mercy as their cooperation earns them. If we have to go get them tomorrow, we’ll drag them back.”

The Captain limped to the hill side of the road and shouted several sentences in their tongue. He nodded to Nag Kath and mustered some dignity, “There will be those who are wounded and cannot come. I hope you will show honor.” The Elf said nothing.

The night took forever. Men and horses cried and suffered. At first light, one crew was assigned the unenviable job of dispatching horses beyond hope. They did the same for men, including some of their own. Most of the Easterlings in the hills came at their Captain’s urging but a few held out for as long as it took. Dorwinion had nineteen dead and twice that many with serious wounds. One of Edelbras’ men was killed and one of the Reyald’s riders got a spear through the leg-bone and would be here two months at the minimum. Sarnt Tellig’s arm was in a sling. Nag Kath spent the morning applying flesh-knitting and pain spells for wounded on both sides. By noon, everyone was where they were supposed to be.

Captain Pen-Sollaag was subordinate to Colonel Fôrsh who was in the back prisoner coffle. It was his job to ask for mercy and terms. That was awkward. The Bror would be in no hurry to get them back. The officers might wish they had died here. Some fell on their swords, including three dressed in black. 

Captain Talfurmir had the King’s authority to settle border skirmishes. This was bigger than that but who was going to complain? Nag Kath presented Edelbras and Talfurmir sealed letters from the Bror to their Lords explaining that he had settled with the infantry on his soil and begging pardon for any trouble rogue elements of his people had caused. It came with offers of reparation. Those who could walk or ride did so and the rest were loaded into wagons for the bumpy ride to Riavod.

___________--------__________

Non-combatants from the Dale train had been left two hours behind and they made their way into town the day after the battle to enjoy dinner and tastes of the exotic wine capital with the soldiers and townsmen. Even the logs and barges arrived at the river mouth over the next few days as gifts for plucky men willing to retrieve them. Unfortunately, horses and men floated down later.

It was four days of healing and dining before the Dalelanders and Nag Kath rode north. This was Gondor and they had things in hand. Weeks later, a letter from the Captain, whose career was ascendant as the hero of Riavod, said that prisoners were sent home across the inlet. The Bror would take three of them back for every horse returned. The rest of the shaggy beasts belonged to the victors or were sold to compensate the families of local casualties. 

Before they left, Nag Kath gave the Captain a letter for the King of Gondor to include with his own dispatches. Sent quickly, it could probably be handed to Aragorn at the gap when he returned from Annúminas. Nag Kath’s letter was written in Sindarin and included meaningless marks on a separate sheet.

**_Dearest High King Elessar Telcontar,_ **

**_I hope this letter finds you well. It should come with dispatches from the excellent Captain Talfurmir who showed great leadership in our victory. I apologize for acting in your name. It was needed. I will leave accounts of the fighting to Talfurmir and only add that which I learned privately._ **

**_The men of Dale came to our aid and also performed superbly. They did not have to do that. Some of it was because I asked but the friendship between the two lands is strong. Expect a change in kingship there shortly._ **

**_Bror Dulgov is a reasonable sort. Now that his brother sleeps with his ancestors, the man may be open to diplomacy. He speaks decent Westron and you can make what you will of his letter to you._ **

**_Then there is the enclosed sheet. The rogue Easterlings were aligned with a cult or sect revering Sauron. I do not know how deep or widespread that fans into their society. They believe it and the Bror is actively discouraging the practice. The paper has a tracing from a stone thought by a low-ranking ‘Visitor’ to hold power. It is not Black Speech and the man spoke none. I send it your way in the event scholars can make sense of it. The rock itself is now gravel in the Rhûn._ **

**_I will keep my ears to the ground for similar tidings. That may take me north and east before we meet again._ **

**_With kindest regards, NK_ **

King Aragorn was intercepted at the Gap of Rohan and read the correspondence from everyone else first. When he opened one end of Nag Kath’s packet, an ounce of green/gray powder poured on his boot. Three matches were sealed in wax on the outside. 

The messenger was told to burn it before the end of need.

___________--------__________

The Dalean captains were in good humor on the way home. Soldiers always mourn for those lost or wounded but this had been a success on every level. The enemy was crushed. An accommodating Bror had shown reason while removing the thorn from his toe. The informal alliance between Dale and The Reunited Kingdom came through in shining colors, probably to be strengthened as a result. Nag Kath did not know it yet but this was the first time he had used his gifts for leadership. The changeling deflected praise to his comrades but they all saw command in him, even if he didn’t. 

Edelbras said while riding, “It shows that cavalry is more than mounted men. They broke formation twice.”

Young Durnaldar responded, “Aye, horse and man need to know the measure of each other, like pick drills at speed. Lieutenant Freers, what think you to do with your shaggy mounts?” 

Freers led thirty troopers from the Thainhold of Fanüel, Queen Delatha’s home. Durnaldar and Thain Conath thought the lands between theirs should be represented. Thain Fanüel risked thirty casualties to present a united Buhric force and chose well. They were discussing forty claimed horses in the rear of their train. The beasts were not natural cavalry mounts but they could draw wagons and happily ate any weed offered.

Freers looked back and assessed, “Plowing and pulling. They do not seem much bothered with the change of masters.”

Reyald cried, “They did not care for those fireworks!” Edelbras just grinned, something he seldom did. Their own horses were spooked but in the hands of more experienced riders.

Nag Kath recalled, “When I had my last confrontation with Easterlings from their hard school, I was told they fear comets as harbingers of evil – a sign of the gods’ displeasure. I could not use it then but with notice, I thought to celebrate Syndolan early this year.”

Durnaldar laughed, “Well timed. When did you learn to make them fly so close to their heads?”

Nag Kath finally grinned, “I didn’t. Those were Gandalf’s powders. Lord Aragorn liberated them from Orthanc a few months ago. The wizard could make tiny packets inside the end that would burst at different times in different colors. I was relieved they rose high enough not to scald our own lads.”

Edelbras said more seriously, “Twas your arrow put paid to the Usurper, like the Ling on the Dwarf Road, eh?”

“Fraid so. Taking him alive would have made things complicated with his brother. They really should teach these eastern potentates not to wear the only clean uniform.”

Reyald wore a small smile thinking of his strange father-in-law. In battle he was the most dangerous man alive with a combination of speed, intelligence and audacity. Then he could switch to discussing toy fireworks with the same degree of concentration. He prioritized, but whatever he did got his full attention. Reyald was also thinking of Thain Durnaldar’s where were certain to be found celebrations. If he could keep Durnaldar’s amorous daughter off the Elf, he would invite her to visit Buhr Austar to meet the rest of the family. There would be nothing like a young woman to liven his beloved brother’s outlook, though the man seemed content.

Nauthauja was indeed ready. Durnaldar sent a fast rider north before making camp the night before. Two of his troopers would have to stay in Riavod with the other wounded until the one with a broken leg mended. The rest were heroes returned from combat! Folk from across the Celduin were invited. It was now more likely than ever that they would be proper Daleans after the next Thainmoot.

Tilli was cordial to Nag Kath but at learning he had been married to Reyald’s wife’s mother (Ardatha being almost as old as her own doddering father!), the young beauty decided she would wait for a dashing Prince, thank you very much. That did not bode well for Torrold’s chances but he knew nothing of the plot. Everyone else in the Buhr was more than cordial. There wasn’t a bag of jerky left in the larder when the soldiers of Dale, Fanüel and Austar waved goodbye. No matter. This was the stuff of songs sung wherever men of good will were met for a hundred years. 

Thain Fändul put out the feedbag too. His thirty riders were his best, but only as many as asked for by his brother Thains. Now well into his fifties, he had only daughters, one of whose sons returned with laurels this day. Old tensions among the eastern Buhrs were long past, which was why marriages among them dwindled as modern girls dreamed of more exciting lands.

_____________------_____________

Buhr Austar had also been notified their returning warriors would arrive the following day. Leaving at dawn put them into town just after lunch where folk threw flowers and brought sweet cakes to their riders. If any soldier was waiting to propose to his sweetheart, this was the time. Troopers with family and Edelbras’ men stayed in town and the rest rode to the Thain’s holdings just northwest. They would have a smaller celebration there tonight and come back to town tomorrow for the speeches. After eating their way up the Redwater, most men just wanted to sleep in a real bed.

Ardatha gave Nag Kath a smile that said they would catch-up after she and Reyald celebrated alone. Torrold sat next to Nag Kath on the porch steps and put his mug on the planks. He commanded the larger local force watching their homeland. They both looked across to the stable barracks listening to brave men choose between celebrating and sleeping. 

Nag Kath said without altering his gaze, “You are in trouble now, my friend. Your brother thinks to bring Tilli Durnaldar up here for courtship.”

Torrold didn’t move his head either, “He and Ardatha have been at that for years. Between us, and a dozen people who also know, I’ve had a friend in town for some time. She is mother to two girls of passing fathers and considered beneath my parents’ standards. After da is gone …” he looked at Nag Kath for this, “… and I hope he lives as long as he wants, I will take her to wife.” He grinned as broadly as Nag Kath might ever imagine saying, “So Tilli will have to find someone her own age to flutter those famous eyelashes at!”

“Good for you, Torrold. Are her daughters included?”

“Oh yes. I would have no one suffer for this. Their husbands are townsmen and militia both, but not considered successors here.”

There was a stillness that begged the question; who would follow? Reyald, if he lived longer, and then Reyald’s boy Shurran. Nag Kath was first to speak, “There is plenty of room in Dale or even Minas Tirith for the sister to the King of the Northmen. They don’t need money. I was thinking of ambassador now that Rosscranith is put to pasture.”

Torrold said, “I have thought that too. It is strange the way ages play in this pageant. I am now fifty, still fit and strong. I wouldn’t have to last as long as my da to make someone wait here with little to do.” He looked Nag Kath in the eyes again, “And if footloose Elves steal all the thunder from our brave troopers, there is not much future in that either.”

“I suppose so. None of this was planned. I have a knack for finding the oddest things and living to tell the tale.”

Torrold grinned again, “Did you really send Syndolan rockets over their heads?”

“Weak efforts by Gandalf’s standards. I still have enough powder for a couple parties.”

Torrold put his hand on the Elf’s knee and said, “I’ll join the men for one last mug and call it a night. Thank you for your kindness, and for looking after my little brother. He is dear to me.”

The tall Northman walked towards the light of the stable.

_____________------_____________

Ardatha was in a good mood the next morning. The Elf was sensitive to women who enjoyed romantic evenings – something about being a water spirit, he supposed. She joined her fourth-da who spent the night in a comfortable chair on the porch. “Breakfast is almost ready, Nag.”

Lost in thought, he looked up at his step-daughter and smiled. “Sorry, I was wondering about events to the south. It is strange how it all went.”

“I shouldn’t think so. Good soldiers did what good soldiers do.”

“I spent a fortnight as a guest of the Bror. Never tell your father but he looked a lot like Conath when we first met, but for the braided whiskers – big, bluff fellow, broad as a beer cask.”

Ardatha said tartly, “He does not enjoy such esteem on this side of the river.”

“The world is changing, daughter, for the better, but with change comes upset. There are people there, and probably in our lands too, who long for the return of darkness. Common threats unite us. Adherents find themselves in worse straits than when sorcery reigned. There are probably hill brats who will join from boredom. I hope they fail. But I am the only one left who can stop them, so either their powers must not grow or mine must. That does not sit well with me, beloved daughter. I was of the black. I cannot go back”

She whispered, “I think of mother often. She could never have loved you if you were a dark lord. I am sorry for your last marriage, and for the baby.”

“I must say goodbye to all I love at some time. Perhaps that is why real Elves are not often close to men. Unless killed by battle or injury, they manage because their society lives on. I hope it takes me a long time not to care about my mortal friends. I like caring.” He grinned, “And I like women. That is not very Elvish of me.”

Ardatha put a piece of long-grass in her teeth and looked at the paddock. “Speaking of women, Reyald told me he invited Durnaldar and his folk up for, what did he call it, a strategic conference.” 

Nag Kath nodded, “He said he would.”

She decreed, “I will put an end to that in due course.” Nag Kath looked at her quizzically. “Torrold is spoken for. The woman is like mother. We are hard on mothers who cannot resist men’s needs.” Ardatha looked in the Elf’s eyes and said, “Of course I know, silly. I am a daughter of Lake Town. We don’t raise fools. Now, if someone else would just tell Reyald. I think even dear Conath knows.”

“Invite her to dinner tomorrow.”

Ardatha pretended to be shocked by raising her hand to her mouth. “Leave it to you! First you ride into the Ling capital with nothing but your cod. And now you put Austar in confusion!”

She bit her lip and added, “I will have Reyald invite her and her daughters’ families. It is time he did something useful for a change.”

_____________------_____________

The feast at the town hall went well. A number of soldiers and a host of a townsmen found that two or more nights of celebrating made them ill. Nag Kath did not offer to cure their distress. After most people had arrived, Reyald Conath, in his dress uniform, led an anxious woman through the front door by the hand. She and Ardatha were the same age, height and shape after children so one of the Princess’ dresses was pressed into service.

Reyald led the gal to the old Thain who was holding court near the beer table. The fearless Captain had to clear his throat twice but then said in a lordly voice, “Father, may I introduce Gerda Santaviig.” The woman bowed and smiled timidly.

Conath looked away from his cronies and asked forcefully, “You not old Corporal Santaviig’s girl are you? Good man.” He remembered nothing of his and Halditha’s disdain after her first unwelcome child. 

“I am indeed, Thain Conath.”

“Well, I have family scattered about the room. Go say hello.”

She blinked a couple times as the old man returned to his story. Then she smiled and went looking for another family member. She found him.

Ardatha and Reyald approached the couple after a few minutes. She kissed them both. Reyald took a small silver box out of his pocket and said, “Nag Kath gave us these when we married. We never got around to setting them. It seems they need better owners.” They were the two diamonds.

The younger son was not so sure about his royal wife’s request to give the stones away like a Hobbit’s mathom, gifts given again and again. She knew the Elf wouldn’t care so when he walked by she said, “Nag Kath, this is Gerda.”

He expected this was the mystery woman and he bowed graciously. Ardatha, ever the Lake-girl said, “We gave them your diamonds. Hope you don’t mind.”

Nag Kath said, “I’d forgotten about those.” To Torrold and Gerda, “I hope they bring you good fortune.”

As other guests, primarily women, joined their circle, Ardatha felt the need to keep the conversation flowing so she asked, “Wherever did you get those Nag?”

“From the troll-hoard in the Iron Hills. There were several dozen and I picked the two that matched the closest. Eniece got the ruby you have now.”

No one, not even his forward step-daughter, was ready for that. She and the Conath brothers had even better Nag Kath stories but everyone else thought he was being silly. Wasn’t this pretty fellow an artist or something?

The Elf himself failed to notice the collective inhale and walked over to Edelbras. His men would be leaving tomorrow. Nag Kath would stay here a while longer so he asked him to take a pair of letters to Dale for him. Edelbras knew the royals might need him soon and would not be any later than necessary, even as other sang his praises. He was a King’s man.

_____________------_____________

As things settled in Austar, Nag Kath got to spend time with Ardatha's younger children; Shurran and Eniecia. They were rapt with Uncle Nag's stories, especially now that there were fresh ones to support the old yarns. The girl liked to dance. Before they knew it, it was harvest. The barley came in late this year, slightly better than to the south but only just worth reaping. Nag Kath participated in militia training and taught archery to the youngsters. They were a dangerous lot when their attention strayed so he used arrows with cloth wrapped around the tips. This was Shurran's first year with the adults and he was a fair shot with the bow.

Gerda lived in town and now Torrold was openly seen with her. Conath never did recall her scandals among the growing list of things he forgot. When his elder son asked his permission to marry, he said, “Splendid. Nice girl.” 

That was it. He could have done it years ago. 

By September it was time for Nag Kath to go. The family wished they could keep him for luck but understood. His bags packed for tomorrow, Ardatha joined him after dinner in his ‘office’, the two chairs on the front porch. They were quiet for the longest time. Finally she said, “We will probably join you in the spring. Torrold will stay. Reyald agreed that it is time for a change. You said change is for the better. I hope so.

“If the King, young or old, thinks we would be good representatives for Dale, I would like to see the White City. We’ll go as citizens if not. It is a safe journey nowadays. He has a cousin in Edoras to visit. We’ll take Shurran and Eniecia.”

He said, “I think that is wise. You should spend some time with your grandmother. She is stronger than the Thain but cannot last forever. I may travel with you. It is time for me to visit Lorien. The fairest of Elven places is just off the road and yet ten thousand leagues away. I have been putting that off, telling myself I wasn’t ready. The Elf-keepers will be there now and they know me.”

She kissed him goodnight knowing he would be gone with the sunrise.

This was familiar road. Nag Kath stopped both at the Iron Hills and Buhr Wenjan turning the corner. There had been no orc trouble. There was no sign of them on the long stretch between mountain ranges. There wasn’t much sign of anyone else either except Dwarf trains taking their goods to Erebor or over the Misty Mountains into Arnor.

Nag Kath did not stop at Erebor this time, thinking that he might be this way again soon depending on how the orc bribe went. No news was good news and he hadn’t heard a word from the capital. With the King’s precarious health, they had other worries.

Charlo’s stable was paid up by the year so he handed the reins to the stable hand and carried his bags up the switchback. The door was unlocked. Nearing dinner, Tella was humming something out of key and making her own meal. Nag Kath shut the door loud enough so she would not be surprised when he was standing behind her. Stealth was not always a virtue.

“Oh, Mr. Kath. It is good to see you. I can just add a few greens.”

“Thank you, Tella. How are you?”

“Fit as a fiddle, Mr. Kath.” Without taking her eyes from her delicate art she said, “You’s a hero and all! Lads coming back from your troop got ribbons from the Prince hisself.”

“They fought bravely. What news of home?”

She had reached a point where things could cook untended so she turned and wiped her hands on the apron. “Well, Brenen’s got another grandchild on the way. Sarn't Burry had a bad cough but he’s better now. My friend Yosie got married, again. And the builders had to fix a leak in the guest room.”

“How about in the city?”

Tella became more serious, “Talk is; the King is poorly, but you knew that. Prince Bain has been out and about. I suppose that’s comin'. Crops were poor to fair but the vegetables were fine. I laid in a stock of wheat even if the price was sky high. Oh, and two wagons of dead fish were taken to Erebor, thought what Dwarves will do with stinking fish is beyond me sir.”

“They might have already been dried.”

“Maybe. It rained that week.”

“And what have you done with yourself, Tella. I know you like pageants in the park.”

“Saw two of those with Yosie and her beau. Sarn't Burry’s son came too. He is a nice fellow. They couldn’t find your arrow the first time so I had to go back. It’s on the mantle.”

He walked over to make a show of admiring the warped target shaft. It reminded him to order more after nearly emptying his quiver at the Celduin. 

“Thank you Tella. Now, what’s for dinner?”

_____________------_____________

Nag Kath made the rounds. One of his first trips was to see Edelbras. The man didn’t have an official office but someone in the palace could find him so he left a note at the gate and expected to hear back shortly. 

Brenen was just fine but had not started his regimen of horse riding; a spot of trouble with his back, he said. Bard and Ros were the same as always. She asked after Tella, probably not knowing of the woman’s romantic needs. There were no calls of yearning in the Elf’s wakeful rest last night so hopefully that was going well too.

So soon after militia training, most people would have to get in line for arrows from Fridar (the younger) but he got them within a week. People whispered. Mortals do not know that when you whisper about Elves, they can hear you. It was like the first Easterling battle; awe and relief.

That afternoon there was a return note from Edelbras, or possibly Rosscranith. It looked like the Colonel’s hand and he had never actually seen Edelbras’ script. It asked him to present himself at eleven tomorrow.

Eleven was the hour of the King. Going back in memory, his scheduled appearances with the King, Queen or both were almost all right there. That called for good clothes and a clear head.

The guards opened the gate before he got close, nodding as he thanked them. The doorman did the same. An attendant walked him to the same pretty little room he had originally drawn Lord and Lady Carstors, the ill-placed armor long gone.

Rosscranith and Edelbras were sitting together over tea with a pair of functionaries he did not recognize. All four rose to shake hands and he was introduced to the two others before they left. Sitting at their end of the table he said, “Good to be back.”

Rosscranith cleared his throat, “Glad to have you back. Fine work to the east.” A servant brought him tea and vanished. “We netted some surprising fish on that cast.”

Nag Kath could tell from the steam that the tea need a few minutes so he asked, “And in the north?” He grinned, “My cook said they got two wagons of stinking fish with their grain.”

Rosscranith chuckled. “They were dry, but mostly haakun whisker-fish. Not my favorite.”

Edelbras said, “They took it. They sent a troop to the border and one ugly rascal who spoke a bit of the common-tongue approached with a white flag. The Dwarves were on him like stoats around a rat as he croaked, “The Lugnash accepts your offer.” That was all he said so they let him go. We piled the food at the border and that was that.”

Rosscranith looked at his successor and back to Nag Kath. “It is time to reacquaint you with the royals.” The men of Dale rose and walked to the receiving area with the Elf two steps behind. Guards at the doors offered no interference. They went to the windowed study where he had usually met the King and Queen and found her with her son having more tea.

The three men bowed to both and the Prince rose to shake hands. Nag Kath had not seen him for two or three years before he left so that would be at least twelve years ago. The young man was now 28 and favored his mother, making him pretty rather than handsome. The Elf could appreciate the difference. He was clean-shaven. Her Highness was serene. Cares showed on her face but it was the sort of face that could handle them gracefully. She must be sixty now.

The Prince said in voice like his father’s, “Gentlemen, please be seated. Lord Kath, the kingdom is again in your debt. I am sorry my father cannot be here to thank you himself.” That was probably hard to say. The King was a strong family man and saw to more of his children’s upbringing than most merchants. 

Queen Delatha added, “And thank your friends for including my brother’s men in defending our allies. It was good for the eastern Thainholds to act in concert.”

“You are welcome, My Lady. I had the pleasure of meeting your brother and his family on the way home. Your nephew showed great bravery.”

Bain said, “The King is indisposed at the moment. I have been entrusted with handling more of the day-to-day matters. Captain Kath, we are particularly interested in your exchanges with the new Bror Dulgov.”

The Prince spoke for the realm. Nag Kath would give him what he wanted, “My Lord, I put the man at about fifty and very much in the Northman style of their peoples rather than the smaller, slimmer folk towards Khand. He speaks the common tongue well enough, though I do not know if his letter to your Lord Father was written or dictated.”

Bain listened patiently, a habit learned from both his parents. “And you killed the Prince yourself?”

“I did, My Lord. I wanted his men to surrender quickly and for the Bror to take back the prisoners leaderless, else he might not take them at all.” The Prince nodded so Nag Kath continued, “Of particular interest to me was that the pretender was in league with elements of their older Balchoth warriors who are committed to raising dark powers, restoring the days of their dominion. Some are fervent. Some are just there for the food.

“Now, I cannot prove a word of this, but I have heard of similar notions among Southrons. The Bror will use this to persecute survivors. Some will bury their beliefs from sight. Others will seek congress with those of like views among free-peoples. Regardless, I see an opportunity for both your esteemed father and for the Lords of Gondor to improve relations with the now supreme Bror of Rhûn.”

Rosscranith and Edelbras stayed quiet. The prince held his chin in his fingers and said, “I will consider what you have said, Captain Kath. I hope we can speak again soon. It might be better if …”

The Steward entered through a private door. That could only happen in rare conditions. Bain rose to speak quietly with the man, nodded a few times and returned to the seated group. “Lord Kath, my father would like a word.”

The Elf rose quickly, bowed to her Highness and followed the Prince wordlessly down a corridor and through another door the guard opened upon seeing them.

Bard lay on his back in bed. His face was colorless. The unquestioned ruler of Dale for thirty three years motioned with his hand for the Elf to come close. Prince Bain watched by the door. Nag Kath approached and bowed. Bard said, in much less than his usual volume, “I have never really thanked, thanked, you for all … you have done.” He coughed like he would never stop but then recovered, “You, you might think you are of no people, but you are … are of all peoples. Care for them, my friend. Care for them.” The monarch smiled slightly and nodded. The audience was complete. Nag Kath bowed again, stepped back and turned as he had been taught before accompanying the Prince to the reception room. The Queen looked at her son carefully but his face showed her it was not yet time.

Bain said, “Thank you, gentlemen. The seated men rose and all three bowed before returning to the main corridor. 

Nag Kath asked a favor, “Colonel, Mr. Edelbras, I know this is a terrible time for routine staffing matters but my son-in-law Reyald Conath is considering greener pastures.” Nag Kath knew he and Edelbras got on well and both had seen the mettle of the other. “When the ambassadorship to the court of Gondor expires, I humbly put his name forward as the next envoy.”

Rosscranith was not a man to let the King’s condition affect his judgment. “So noted. The next term ends in a year. A hero of the only fight worth having lately, married to a King’s aunt helps the case. I can’t make any promises but he will be near the top of the list.”

“Captain Reyald plans to come to here with his family next spring for the Thainmoot and stay through the season. That would give you a chance to talk with him at length.”

“Done. Let us know what else you need.” The big man turned to go but stopped and said, “There may be new faces here soon. If we aren’t available, ask for Lümell at the gate.” The new King might want men of his own.


	19. Ring Heroes Fade

**_Chapter 19_ **

**** **_Ring Heroes Fade_ **

The next Thursday, October 18th in the diary, bells began tolling at sunrise. It took longer than Nag Kath thought but the King was legend. With more notice than for his father before him, ribbons were dyed purple and gray in the traditional colors of royal mourning. Spoiled young women thought it a shame to reserve purple for such dreary affairs but Bard was of the old ways. Usually Northmen buried their dead quickly but the Funeral was set for Sunday because Stonehelm would be attending, in state. Other kingdoms would send representatives for a memorial later. With the northern winter looming, the remembrance would be in mid-spring and the Thainmoot immediately afterwards.

Nag Kath qualified for what was informally called the ‘second circle’ of funerary protocol. The first was; family, high ministers, generals, had there been any, an assortment of the highest business leaders and such Thains or government representatives who could get here. 

The second circle was comprised of; knights and high officers, the next tier of business and civic leaders, higher functionaries and a few folk who just had a lot of money. Brenen and Bard qualified several ways. These people were entitled to come to the funeral and wake afterwards and assorted other events including the coronation to be held at the memorial in spring. A broader third circle could come to the great hall for the funeral and coronation if they would get in. Everyone else could wave from their windows.

The first circle was largely occupied with succession. Bain was a grown man and his father’s dying was expected. There was no need to show force as in a coup or against perceived weakness on the borders. Guards pulled double-shifts around the palace walls to keep well-wishers from stealing mementos.

Nag Kath went to the service and proclamation with Brenen and Nedille, Bard and Ros. He saw a number of people he knew but did not greet them. There would be time for that afterwards. Thorin Stonehelm was there with son Thror, Tombor and a few of his court. They nodded in passing. Their procession had arrived to the respect of Daleans the day before. The Dwarf Lord had not been here for twelve years and despite his stern countenance, he was glad to be so well received as a friend of Dale. Thorin met Prince Bain once in Erebor when Bard visited six years ago. The young man was polite and kept his mouth shut, traits Thorin dearly wished on first grandson Tordosh.

The Dwarves ability to stand or sit still served them well this day. Readings, dirges and the calling and answering of kingly observance took at least a bell and a half. Some of the privileged children shifted their weight from one foot to the other hoping to make it to the privy. Bard’s father died in battle and did not get the farewell past kings had so this was new ground for all but the ancient. When the Magister finally closed the book, a sea of folk flooded out the main doors. Most of the first circle used private doors nearer the dais. The second circle was now invited to the reception hall which meant walking outside in a drizzle to the other end of the great hall. A ribbon on their coats got the five of them inside with only a cursory bow.

That still put the Kathen team at the back of the reception line so they got a cup of warm, sweet wine before taking their place for condolences, handing the empty cups to attendants before reaching the bereaved. Nag Kath was in front of the five. Brenen and Bard knew the new King from militia practice but had never met the dowager Queen. King Bain was seated on the throne. The consort throne was empty, with a sizeable contingent of ladies wishing their backside was warming it. The Queen was now in a comfortable chair flanked by her daughters. 

The line came to within about ten feet of the stepped dais as people nodded and received acknowledgment. With only a family of merchants to go, Queen Delatha saw Nag Kath and stood with a ladylike stretch. She had sat through this, the funeral and several meetings beforehand and it was time to unkink her back. Walking forward to greet the traders personally, she waited for Nag Kath and his family on the lip of the riser.

“Thank you for coming, Lord Kath.”

“It is my privilege, My Lady. May I present my step-son Brenen and his wife Nedille. This is nephew Bard and his wife Ros.”

She offered her hands to all with a smile saying, “Thank you for coming too. It warms my heart to see so many who cared for my husband.” She didn’t call him the King. There was a new King now. That same King walked over to shake hands with the Elf’s unusual family after giving them time to bow. “Bren, Nedille, Bard and Ros, good of you to come. I am glad father left our lands in such good hands as the mothers of Dale.” The ladies smiled but were not flustered.

As personal as that was, it was time for Captain Sternboldan and his brood waiting behind them to offer condolences so they bowed again and made for home.

_____________------_____________

Nag Kath really hadn’t unpacked. Most of the clothes he took were rags now. His sketch satchel hadn’t seen much use, except waiting in the garden compound. He thumbed through those briefly and thought his eye was out. One would have thought with time to burn he might have done better work but the images seemed blurred – especially the flowers. He was usually good with flowers. The portrait of the old man in the compound was excellent. Good or bad, they were still part of his life’s record so he slipped them into the hanging folio and went to get his bow tuned with new horn.

A week after, coming as no surprise, Tella curtsied before him and asked if she could introduce a visitor. Nag Kath granted it and she opened the door for Burry, his excellent wife and their middle son, Gorandar. Burry was at ease, as usual and so was Lola who had been here for most of the Syndolan parties. Gorandar was chip off the old block. Most Northmen were. It took Nag Kath three years to tell them apart. Burry announced in his sonorous baritone, “Good morning, Nag Kath. My son has something to tell you.”

Gorander was a grown man, once married, and no wilting violet. He came forward and said, “Mr. Kath, Tella and I intend to marry.”

Nag Kath wondered why they all came over. Tella was his cook, not his daughter, and no spring chicken either. But the man was here to make this official so Nag Kath summoned such gravitas as he could and decreed, “I think that is marvelous! I insist that you let me host the reception!”

They would have married anyway and having the Elf throw the party was the spice on the fish. And speaking of spice on the fish; “Tella, do you intend to maintain your position in the household?”

“Oh yes, Mr. Kath. That is, if you don’t mind my living elsewhere.”

Mr. Kath couldn’t think of many things he minded less. “When is the happy day?”

Lola took that one, “They thought to have a small ceremony on November fourteenth. The city will have settled down a bit.”

That made sense on several levels. Second weddings were not grand affairs in Dale, for only slightly better reasons than second-hand fish. Exceptions were made for widowers. For a divorced journeyman and a spinster, despite her charms, a private ceremony was the standard. An unstated reason was that his live-in servant had been ill the past few mornings. He would need a new cook/housekeeper come spring.

Lola was right, Dale settled-down quickly. Nag Kath sent a letter to Reyald that he had enough conditional approval to bring the family for the spring moot, also conditional that Rosscranith wasn’t selling cabbages next week. His house would be available whenever they wanted it.

As it always does, the capital slowed down in October. The crops were in, the storm-shutters were repaired, firewood was stacked. In one of the rare leisure times in his life, Nag Kath experimented with Gandalf’s firework powders. A large supply of something similar was said to have blown a hole in the Deeping Wall but that had been repaired by the time he saw it. For the first year at least, these would be fired from somewhere that would not burn.

Mr. Turn was long retired but his assistant still conducted party planning. Their firm was engaged both for Tella’s wedding and the Syndolan Eve event. The Burrys were not the sort of folk who could engage his services by themselves. Nag Kath was impressed that the man put just as much effort and care into their preparations as he would for anyone else. It helped that the Elf was footing the bill but most of his work was spent with the couple themselves. They used the Mason’s Guild Hall, since the Elf owned it, and he slipped out after his first ale. 

Syndolan planning was remembrance. In the file was the very first guest list. Parts of later lists in Eniece’s hand brought tears. Many of those names were gone or he had lost track. The longed-lived races like Dwarves and Hobbits had more survivors but their ranks had thinned as well. 

This was bittersweet. He told Ardatha he would outlive everyone who loved him. Was part of what the Elves considered the gift of mortal life a shared experience of aging together? The life of loss did not linger. It was his condition and he liked meeting new people so that must compensate.

What made this party special was that people who had come to his first few Syndolan parties now brought adult children. One would have thought the young folk would associate with their own sort but this generation did not seem to (or perhaps couldn’t afford to) entertain as much as the last. 

Everything went well. So as not to abandon his guests, he hired an old soldier and his son to launch his fireworks from the jetty. There were six rockets designed to go up and explode in different colors. Two of them did exactly that. Three just exploded all at once and the second made a beeline towards a bait shack, thankfully incinerating before it arrived. There was no advanced notice but a sizeable number of people saw the last two go up.

_____________------_____________

In February, Tella announced that she would start her confinement and did not expect to return. Ros found another, older cook/housekeeper through her contacts in the city. Lupa was all business at first but slowly warmed to her eccentric householder – no unrequited lusts with Lupa, who seemed mostly of far eastern bloods, though now several generations in Dale.

News from “upstairs” was spotty. King Bain made the usual public appearances. Nag Kath had no personal irons in the fire but he was lobbying for Reyald so he sent a note to Rosscranith who had not come to the party. Three few days he received a reply in the form of Rosscranith himself. The Colonel was now Lord Chancellor for King Bain II. Like his father, the new King retained several of his father’s councilors among the new men. Lupa was at the market buying fish that vendors kept alive in troughs rather than letting them gape at buyers in a pile. The Colonel accepted a mug of tea and they both sat where everyone did in the chair and couch by the low table.

The big man started with, “Part of the delay in getting back to you was that I waited on mentioning Reyald to the King. I did yesterday and he agreed his uncle would be a good choice.” He became serious, “Then there is the matter of his son.” 

King Bain II came from a family of girls. With the death of Bard II, the heir to the throne was Bard’s full-sister’s son Lord Carstors of the wedding portrait. He was in his mid-fifties and still happily married at his hunting lodge south of the lake with little interest in governing. Their union had been blessed with two daughters who were married with one daughter each. Bain’s older sister had two daughters as well. She was now 37 and confided more children were not expected. The middle sister was a sweet but frail woman who never married.

When Bard acknowledged Ardatha as his Sister Princess, her children entered the succession which made Shurran second in line to the throne. Unless Bain had a son, the Kingship of Dale went through the unassuming teenager on the Redwater. His parents educated him and taught him country virtues but he had no notion of sharp-elbowed politics in the capital. Nag Kath wondered if he knew he was two hearts from the crown. Others certainly did. It was possible someone lower on the list would contest his mother’s legitimacy, but being one of King Brand’s only three grandsons was a powerful argument in his favor. More concerning was someone who might remove him for a better place in line. It had been tried only a generation before.

Rosscranith continued, “Perhaps an education in the White City would give the young man more grounding in affairs of state, don’t you think?”

“I expect that has occurred to his parents, Davit. Reyald is a good man, with a good wife. They will represent his Highness with honor. You have your ears. How are conditions in the Buhrs and southward?”

“Quiet, how we like them. King Elessar was a bit embarrassed at how ill-prepared his vinelands were. I understand those positions will be reinforced.”

The Elf blew across the top of his mug before taking a sip and asked, “For the ceremonies before the Thainmoot, has his Lordship invited a representative of Rhûn?”

Chancellor Rosscranith was not an easy man to surprise but that raised a furry eyebrow. He sipped his tea and admitted, “You think in terms most of us do not, Nag Kath. The answer is no, which is my fault. I keep fighting the old war.”

Nag Kath leaned back on the couch and theorized, “The Bror has sons the same age as Lord Bain, men who were not even born at the siege of Erebor. At the party, to which I will still invite you, even though you are much too lordly now, a number of old friends brought their grown children. The kids do not have the same misgivings. If you think it will help, I can write a note with the official invitation. I got along tolerably well with the devil. You know the public better than me, but let us not forget that he settled fifteen hundred foot on his own soil or we would have fought that battle shooting backwards.”

The soldier turned statesman ran that through his head and said, “The idea has merit. It cannot be done without Gondor. I would not put both sides in the same room without warning. If his Highness agrees, I will have riders take the proposal to the White City the day the roads clear.”

Nag Kath’s tea was at the perfect temperature for large sips. “You do not have to do this on my account. It just seems like a good idea. And I care less than most, but is his Highness considering making heirs of his own?”

“You and everyone else in the realm want to know that. I have no insights.”

The Elf smiled, “If Durnaldar brings his younger daughter, put the King in iron underpants.”

Rosscranith broke into a rare genuine laugh. Northmen can really laugh. Finishing his tea he mused, “I have heard she is fair. Not that a man in my humble station would rely on rumors, but it is said that one of Éomer’s lasses might take the short ride to our fair city as well.”

“Good! He is worthy of a fight! Maybe the Bror has an exotic female for the stew. Thank you for coming, my friend. Let me know if I can help.” As the Chancellor rose to collect his coat Nag Kath said, “Oh, please give my best your lady wife and to Queen Delatha. I hope she is well.”

That gave the Northman pause. “She has such grace that it is hard to tell, but she is lonely. Thirty-five years without peer does not leave one a wide circle of friends, a thousand acquaintances, yes, but not friends. I will convey your kind wishes.”

_____________------_____________

Thains and foreign dignitaries poured into Dale during the third week of April. Nature cooperated but this was still north enough that folk wore their warmest. 

Official planning had started when Bard’s condition was learned but its inception was thirty years before. Every king of free men had been replaced within a month of the fall of Barad Dûr. Éomer, Bard and Thorin because their Kings were slain. Aragorn because he won. Prince Faramir lost his da as well. Only Imrahil of Belfalas had been Lord at the time.

Now Bard was the first of the next lot to die. This was not only a remembrance of the man, it confirmed the way of life in the Fourth Age. King Bain now ruled and his brother lords would welcome him in their midst.

The international meeting would start with a repeat of Bain’s investiture. The next three days had two two-hour plenary meetings scheduled at ten and two for large topics that crossed all borders. They would certainly run longer. Most of the Lords’ time would be spent in smaller groups or private meetings.

This was also a family reunion. Elessar and Arwen had no children. They came from Gondor with Faramir and Éowyn who had two who stayed at home. It was unusual for Faramir the Steward to leave with Aragorn but this type of succession had not happened before. They thought it wise to present a united front.

Along the Anduin they would be joined by Éomer and his wife, Lothíriel, daughter of Imrahil. Their son Elfwine and/or daughter Éowyndl might come too. From the west, Lord Fanarbríl, Steward of Arnor, was coming in train with his retainers and half a dozen Hobbits of the Shire. King Thorin III would be here. He was a neighbor with several hundred Dwarves inside the walls and knew the place as well as most Daleans. 

There were two mystery guests. One was second son of Bror Dulgov of Rhûn. They had accepted the invitation sent after exhausted riders between Minas Tirith and Dale confirmed both countries’ agreement. The second was Lord Fearnold of the Silvan Elves. He was coming with a small contingent and though it was not mentioned, only planned to stay for the investiture. That was just a partial list of Lords. They were coming in state with counselors, outriders, servants and considerably pageantry. Then there were merchants, mayors, businessmen and anyone with a dog in the fight. There would be a lot of business done here among those who had worked together for years and never met. Policy eventually becomes trade.

Prices for rooms soared. Merchants used to the best took basements for twice the price. The Thains arriving near the end of the investiture for their own moot knew where to stay if they didn’t already own homes. As in Trum Dreng, people with fashionable or secure dwellings could be talked into staying with relatives for a fat purse.

Nag Kath got a letter from Ardatha as soon as the roads cleared that she was coming with Reyald, Shurran, Eniecia and their servant, Loral. Her elder daughter Haldiera was staying in Buhr Austar with her husband Gerruld and their two little ones. Gerruld was a subaltern in Conath’s main force until he was promoted to Lieutenant by inheriting Reyald’s troop. That also made Gerruld Librath Torrald’s heir-apparent. He was a soldier with leadership talents and the dice landed his way. Their little boy was also in the royal succession. The Conaths would stay at Uncle Nag’s house or their apartment inside the palace grounds until the Thainmoot ended. There was plenty of room. 

Prince Voranush was among the first of the dignitaries to arrive. He had a modest train of six outriders and two counselors, dressed very differently than the last time Easterlings visited Dale. They came quietly and stayed in a Rhûnish family’s compound near the docks. It would mean daily hikes up the hill for the meetings and functions but it was secure and private. The day they rode in, Nag Kath received a note asking if the Elf might visit him for tea tomorrow. Nag Kath had no official role but he had talked with Rosscranith after the invitation was sanctioned. Both men agreed this was likely and that Nag Kath should enjoy his visit.

The Elf was shown into a modest home with a beautiful interior of both Dalish and Rhûnish styles. They fit together well. A steward brought him to the main room where two men were sitting already sipping tea. Both rose and greeted him. One was an older fellow with close-cropped gray hair and matching beard rather than the usual tight braids. 

Nag Kath knew the Prince to be about 29. He was a good-looking fellow with a scar down his left cheek. It was not disfiguring and made him seem rather dashing. Nag Kath would not mention it, but he looked a deal more like his dead uncle than his stout da. 

The Prince said in heavily accented but good Westron, “Ah, Lord Kath, how good of you to come. This is Minister Caoulish, an expert in diplomacy. Please take a seat.” His bottom had not hit the cushion before delicious smelling tea was served by a woman who said nothing and did not make eye contact. She was gone in a blink. 

Second son Voranush was perfect for the role of observer. As Nag Kath would find later, the Bror had three sons of one wife and no concubines. That was in the western tradition of one-at-a-time. First son had probably seen to the rebel infantry at the river before moving upstream to inquire about shaggy horses.

“Father was much impressed by you, Lord Kath. If your hand was in the invitation to our family, I thank you for that as well.”

“You are welcome, My Lord, Minister. It seemed time to look ahead.”

Caoulish said in perfect Westron, “It was a fortunate turn of events, just the sort of thing to make us realize we have much in common.”

It really was. The only principal who didn’t come out smelling like flowers was dead. The Bror reigned supreme. Borders were secure. The battle brought Dale and Gondor closer and Rohan won laurels as well. The Bror accepted three of his men back for every horse. The animals remaining were worth about the cost of defense. No money could replace the men lost or severely wounded but their families would not want.

Nag Kath was fairly sure the Minister was the Bror’s ears. There would be no shaking him to talk with the Prince privately. The young man accepted that. Voranush said, “My reason for asking you here is that you and my father understood one another. Few men in his experience share his … humor. I was hoping, if it does not betray confidence, if you could explain what the assembled Lords might expect, or, not want to happen in this most fragile time.”

The Elf looked both men in the eyes and said, “No, My Lord, counselor, I have no trouble sharing what little I know. But I would ask a modest favor in return. Since you are the guests, I will start. I believe you are in a strong position. Your father, rightful Bror of Rhûn, could have more easily waved goodbye from the bank than destroy his ill-advised brother’s army. That is both the perception and the truth known to wise men of the west; a powerful combination.”

Caoulish agreed, “We appreciate that right action should be honored.”

“Gentlemen, I believe that His Highness need do no more than be earnest in his conversations. Do not demand anything. Do not require anything. Show these men that you are as reasonable as his Excellency and listen carefully.

“I would add that among the Lords present are important men of business. If your people grow, mine or create things of value, there will be no faster way to open our lands than trade. All governments have high ministers interested in such things. I humbly suggest your esteemed father invites some to your enlightened capital to discuss possibilities in comfort.”

The Prince looked at Nag Kath saying, “I believe my honored father would consider that favorably.”

Minister Caoulish agreed, “We had discussed impressions mattering greatly after so many years of misunderstanding.”

Nag Kath now raised the second half of the agreement, “There is more. I believe this is more important but should not, perhaps, come to all ears on this visit. The Usurper Frûnzal was in league with those who yearn for the dark past.”

Caoulish asked, “Forgive my interruption but there is something I must know before we go further; was it you on the Dwarf Road all those years ago?”

“Yes, Counselor, it was.”

The two men looked at each other again and Caoulish said, “Lord Kath, the men you dispatched then are likely the fathers and uncles of the riders crossing the Khelduish. They were our fiercest soldiers when we are allied with the Dark Lord. Loss and disfavor has made them bitter.”

Nag Kath sympathized, “They are not alone, friend counselor. If claims of congress with dark powers are possible, we have a mutual and terrible enemy. This is known to high councils. An understanding that we will work together against those seeking to resurrect Sauron will get you further than farmers or traders.”

Nag Kath pulled a small sheet of paper from his pocket. On it were four of the eight runes from the glyph. “Have either of you gentlemen seen writing like this before?”

The Prince looked closely but his face registered nothing. Caoulish looked longer and said, “Chey symbols, of the Wain-riders. East of Khand.”

The changeling said, “I cannot say I know of it.” Civilized maps were blank in that direction.

Caoulish said softly, “Few do. Not even Those Named go there.”

The Elf followed the thread, “Are these associated with Sauron?”

The Minister thought about that but seemed to relax a little, “I do not think so, perhaps his servants. The orcs did not show this. Warriors of that region sometimes had this …” pointing to one of the four, “on their shields. Traders brought them back from burials to sell in the bazaar.”

Caoulish took a sip of tea and continued in the same reasonable tone, “Such magiks, if there are any, would be from the south, perhaps Mordor itself.”

The Elf said with quiet assurance, “I do not exist. You have but to nod and I will attend.”

The men of Rhûn did not have to look at each other. Caoulish said softly, Let it be so, Mr. Kath.”

The all rose and shook hands, not an Easterling custom. As he made for the door Prince Voranush said, “Thank you again, Mr. Kath. We are in your debt.”

A bell rang and Nag Kath asked, “Oh, speaking of debts, was the old fellow I stayed with in Kugavod sent home?”

This time they did look at each other but when neither had an answer the Elf added, “This was in settling the Khan of Mistrand’s obligations.”

Caoulish shook his head before saying, “The Khan of Mistrand died two years ago. With no heirs, his position was filled by an administrator from the capital. Should I enquire, Mr. Kath?”

“I probably misunderstood him, Minister. Enjoy your stay.”

_____________------_____________

Nag Kath bowed at the door. Before him were the Kings and Queens of Gondor and Rohan with Prince Faramir and Lady Éowyn of Ithilien. King Elessar said, “Thank you for coming, Nag Kath. Please have a seat.” They were sitting in no real order around a dining table that could seat as many as sixteen. It would see hard use this week. The Elf sat next to Faramir and the two shook hands.

Aragorn said, “Hard fight on the Celduin. You brought honor to many houses.”

Nag Kath replied, “Thank you, My Lords and Ladies. Captain Talfurmir showed fine colors, as did your Fenuldorn, Lord Éomer.”

The King of the Reunited Kingdom continued, “Before the conference, we would like your assessment of the incursion.”

The Elf started slowly, “It might have worked. I traveled with a dozen of the late King’s best to investigate reports of orc troops along the Iron Hills Road and Easterlings along the Redwater.”

King Éomer could not resist, “See any wargs?”

“Just one, sir.”

Arwen asked “I, for one, would be very interested in hearing that tale, Nag Kath.” It was the first time she had used his name in his presence.

“Yes, ma’am. I spotted a brigade of about one hundred thirty soldier orcs with swords and bucklers traipsing behind the Iron Hills and confronted them. The Anglachor, that’s a Colonel, had a warg with him.”

The Master of the Mark had started this so he asked, “You faced a brigade with a squad?”

“It was just me, Lord Éomer. Stealing sheep and making footprints made no sense. I told the Anglachor not to treat with the Easterlings. He said there was famine in their land and they had been promised spoils from the Redwater campaign. I convinced him that the crops would fail this year and offered food if they went home. Their Lugnash took the deal and that was the last anyone has heard from them.”

Éowyn, who had slain her share of orcs, said, “A hundred to one? They weren’t that hungry.”

Nag Kath gave the grin that proved to Arwen that he was not really an Elf saying, “I puffed up like Gandalf and spoke in echos. The orc chief was a reasonable sort. We sat for a few minutes before he sought shelter from the sun. I think they already suspected the Usurper of deception since they had marched the northern fields themselves. Easterling cavalry was making the same ruckus along the river, not fighting but riding to and fro to make it seem there were many. The idea was to keep Dalish allies on their own borders before hurrying south to attack Dorwinion in strength. Looking back, I think that was more to fool his brother.”

Faramir said in his soft voice, “And then you went to the Bror?”

“Yes sir. I went south to skirt the rebel holdings and there I learned the Usurper had stolen most of his brother’s horses, not something the Bror wanted widely known. With cavalry, the winelands would be easier to take than fighting at home. I rode to Kugavad for an audience and told the Bror we were preparing for the rebels on our side and he could put paid to the threat by cleaning up on his. He got the infantry but not the cavalry since they were making noise up the Redwater.

“My Lords and Ladies, I apologize for representing your authority without leave.” No one took exception, “I spoke with the Rhûnic Prince and his Minister two days ago and told them that their ruler’s decision to stop the attack on their soil would be appreciated in high councils. 

Even among this august group, Elessar Telcontar might have secrets. Before going any further Nag Kath asked him, “My Lord, did you receive my letter?”

The King said to all, “Nag Kath sent me a tracing of a stone from the battlefield between the Bror and his brother. It had markings not known to our scholars.”

Taking that as ascent, the Elf continued, “The rebel Prince was in league with a sect of Sayers who yearn for the days of Dark Lords. They call themselves the Visitors. I interrogated one at the infantry battlefield in Rhûn. He did not understand the Black Speech. I convinced him to tell me how to praise his men to the Darkness and he told me where he had hidden a small stone with ancient runes. The Bror’s man said they were quite old

Lady Lothíriel, daughter of Prince Imrahil, was no stranger to armies of the east. She delicately folded her hands on the table and said to Nag Kath, “He did not tell you that willingly.”

The slightest smile formed on the corners of the Elf’s mouth, “I borrowed the confusion spell I learned healing your esteemed brother.”

Lady Arwen knew more about dark powers than all combined. “Where does this leave us?”

Everyone looked at Nag Kath. He spoke matter-of-factly, “I see three unknowns: One is that they are using symbols of past glory that hold no power. Two is that these are runes of when Sauron held Mordor many years ago. If he is destroyed, again, there is no power. Three is that they hope to summon or nurture the next dark lord and return to favor. The Witch-King still has many he condemned to living death awaiting his call. I killed one a week after we parted, Sire.

“Someone knows. Against the wrath of the Bror, he is either on the run or well disguised. I suggested to the young Prince that commerce is the way to make friends in the west and would let us converse about our common enemy. Whether he likes it or not, we are on the same side.”

Faramir laughed and lightly hit the ball of his fist on the table. “Was there anything else to help with our councils, Nag Kath of the Water?”

The Elf leaned on the table with his elbows and again flashed his obscene grin, “The Easterlings are cheap. We bribed the orcs to betray them with something under two Florin in wheat and whisker-fish. If the would-be Bror of Dorwinion had bought the same fish first, I would have never crossed the Celduin.”

_____________------_____________

Nag Kath had no official part in the conference but old friends and people who wanted specific information sought his input. By all accounts, the Easterlings surprised everyone by being reasonable and polite. Nag Kath expected Aragorn spoke with Thorin Stonehelm and perhaps a few others about orcs. A deputation of merchants planned to visit Kugavad at the Bror’s convenience.

Thain Peregrin Took and his wife Diamond were among the Hobbits visiting. He enquired after Nag Kath and was invited to dinner at the Elf’s home with the Brightens brothers, their wives, children and Mr. and Mrs. Barleycroth, a very respectable couple. It being past the five-bell, ale and wine were served. Nag Kath told them about the Barrow-wight that had changed into a fish-monster and the Bombadils. 

One must not think Lordly councils are limited to Lordly councils. Reliable sources said that there was only one real fight among the outriders when the troopers from Arnor insulted horses of Rohan. You can say anything you want about the riders but not their horses. The instigators spent the rest of the week shoveling.

Of greater import, this was the best chance for eligible ladies of high birth to meet future husbands. King Bain was nearly thirty so lovelies tried getting invited to any number of soirees, dinners, entertainments and hunts that week. A few of them floated near the dashing Prince of Rhûn until someone at his compound loaned him a Northman wedding ring to show he was not available, at least, not for a first wife. 

This was never more intense than when the Lordly conference was ending and the Thains finished trickling in for their moot. A celebration at the Great Hall was scheduled for the last night with the Thains invited. Old Zandro of Celduin Village brought his daughter along. She was a plump, pleasant young lady with a good sense of humor. 

Everyone wanted to come but planners kept plenty of elbow room. High Lords didn’t need everyone getting too close. Reyald and Ardatha arrived with Nag Kath fashionably late. 

Aragorn and his Lady were often apart for duty or conversation at such events. The King saw Nag Kath above the crowd and walked over to say hello. “King Elessar, may I present my daughter and son-in-law Ardatha and Reyald Conath.”

The King shook their hands. Nag Kath had told him of his family here but it was another thing to actually see it. As if one King wasn’t enough, Bain fled a flock of admirers and kissed his favorite aunt on the cheek. To Aragorn he said, “You may be seeing a lot of them. Major Conath will be our next ambassador to the White City.”

Aragorn shook his hand again and said he would look forward to receiving his credentials before walking over for a word with Thorin. Reyald asked King Bain, “My Lord, how fares your mother?”

“She is well, but begged off tonight to dine with her brother. I will give her your best.” Turning to Ardatha, “I am sure she would like to see you.” The man excused himself to another corner of the room but called an attendant over to have an invitation issued on behalf of the dowager Queen. 

By themselves again, Reyald looked at his wife and said with a smile, “The interview went well. I suppose I’d better learn what to do.”

Nag Kath said, “You won’t leave until late summer. I know a few people who can help.” 

Among the young ladies at the reception was Tilli of Nauthauja. She was dressed to perfection and exquisite, but not pleased. Was she to be paraded like a prize filly at the fair? Her handsome father guided her through the throng, managing introductions to many who mattered, including her liege. No magic flew when their eyes met. While Durnaldar was talking with two gentlemen of Dorwinion, Tilli walked over to the high windows and looked at possible storm clouds covering the stars.

“I hope those can hold off for a few days.” It was offered by a tall, good-looking young man gazing at the same horizon. He had long, ginger hair in the fashion of Rohan but unlike everyone else from that land, he was dressed in city clothes rather than light armor. 

She thought he must be one of the scribes or clerks these kings keep about. The man was fair and gracious so she smiled back saying, “We just got here. I hope they can wait two weeks. You are leaving my lands soon, good sir. I hope your stay was enjoyable.”

“It was. I hadn’t been here since I was fourteen.”

“She curtsied and held her hand out in the way of modern women, “I am Tilli.”

“Pleased to meet you, Tilli. I am called Elfwine.” 

_____________------_____________

It rained when the Thains went home. Those who hadn’t already pledged their fealty to the new King did so. Mugs were raised, deals were done and one young lady was invited to the Riddermark. 

Reyald and his family just stayed at Nag Kath’s with plans to make for Gondor in August. They could leave anytime but Reyald did not want to push the current ambassador whose brief ended that fall. Shurran liked visiting Brenen’s son’s jewelry shop and learned useful craft. 

Eniecia was a quiet girl. She was friendly with a cheerful outlook but did not put herself forward. Eniecia also favored Eniece, a good thing for girls. She certainly had a future in Minas Tirith or anywhere else she landed. The lass devoured the few books Nag Kath had here and helped the servants with the large dinners now needed. Reyald already knew Rosscranith and they got on well. He could not get better advice than from the lordly Northman. Edelbras now ran the guardi. He knew the secrets.

One of the nicest parts of their stay was that Ardatha often visited Queen Delatha. Now that her son wore the crown, the dowager thought she might travel home next summer. Delatha had only been there twice in her long marriage and a spot of country life might put her at ease. Ardatha and her family also spent considerable time with her grandmother Mrs. Borenne on the lake. That was bittersweet.

In late July, the family gathered around the table to look at Nag Kath’s picture archive. He seldom looked himself but the teenagers wanted to see all of the impossible places and people he had drawn. People believed his tall tales … but they didn’t. Suddenly, there was the Wild Huntsman glowering for all time. There was the water project they would see themselves shortly. Kings, Queens, Hobbits, Gandalf fussing with his pipe. 

Two later pictures he pulled after the youngsters wandered off seemed unfinished. They were of Orlo at his hut and another sketch of his hut from behind the cucumber patch looking into the lilies. They were not up to his standards but part of the archive so he didn’t throw them away.

There wasn’t much keeping him here so he decided to guide the family to Gondor in three weeks. He knew the road. Nag Kath asked for one delay along the river while he explored Lorien. There was no guarantee he could find it or get in, or that he would be able to leave, but if they could amuse themselves for a week along the road, Nag Kath might add one more answer.

Merchant trains still kept to the Great River across the Old Forest Road. Bold souls could stay to the eastern edge of Mirkwood and cut the distance but the trail was indifferently maintained and not everyone was friendly. Loral was in her forties and not an experienced rider so the smooth road was better. For reasons Nag Kath didn’t share, they camped by the western forest’s edge at noon and stayed the rest of the day.

The weather held fair except for a two hard summer hailstorms. The first they watched from one of the inns now dotting the road. The other caught them by surprise and they dried their clothes at the next inn. Five days later, they reached the Celebrant coming from the Misty Mountains. There was an inn there too! A generation after the war; folk were traveling in safety.

Nag Kath promised to be back within a week and took Charlo into the forest of Lorien. There was a clear path but as sure as he was of anything, the way to get to Caras Galadhon would seem impossible to the untrained eye. The Elf had directions from friends in the Woodland Realm. He would need instincts as well.

A day up the path he felt he had gone too far. Turning Charlo back, he saw a pair of rocks to his left that looked like one rock going west. Nag Kath dismounted and let the horse on the faintest of tracks towards them. Beyond the rocks it became a path.

Another hour and he saw the magnificent Mallorns reach for the sky. Unlike Rivendell, this place was alive. There was still deterioration of the handmade things but the trees might live another age. The Elf, hopefully among Elves, dismounted and slowly walked Charlo to keep someone from sending an arrow his way before asking. 

A central grouping of trees, perhaps a half mile across was cleared from the rest of the forest. It was surrounded by a moat that had seen hard fighting in the war. Caras Galadhon was attacked three times before Dol Guldur, stronghold of the enemy, was finally crushed.

They crept to a stone bridge directly on the road with a gate left open. Two steps more he heard in Westron, “That is far enough.” Nag Kath scratched Charlo’s muzzle to let him know things were fine, though, that remained to be seen.

Two Silvan Elves came down from the gate and approached, one with an arrow nocked. Nag Kath remained motionless save rubbing his horse. When they saw he was an Elf, with hair purposefully past his ears, the one slipped the arrow back in his quiver and they both came to within ten feet. Nag Kath bowed in their fashion and they returned the courtesy.

The Elf who had not had an arrow ready said, “We have not seen you before, friend. Who visits us this day?”

“I am known as Nag Kath and only come in passing.” When that did not sway he added, “I was told the way here by Lord Fearnold this spring.”

The first responded, “He is known to us. Come this way.”

They crossed the bridge. Nag Kath was in awe of the grandeur. It was Minas Tirith made of trees. Little flets were tucked in the rising branches, some natural, some sculpted in the living wood like lily pads. 

Even in high summer it was cool below the canopy. His escorts said nothing. Other Elves stopped what they were doing to watch him lead the handsome horse across the grass.

Winding their way up the path, they reached a handful of ohtars who had been observing. His guards spoke in Silvan to the others and one of them said in Sindarin, “You are still here. The Undying Lands have not drawn you away?”

“An invitation has not been extended.”

They had to consider that a few moments. It was time to seek a higher opinion. One of them climbed a spiral staircase up a tree to the right with astonishing speed. He came back about five minutes later but no one said a thing. Charlo started grazing. Nag Kath hoped this was not sacred grass.

Not long after, an Elf in the mold of Fearnold walked down and approached. Nag Kath bowed and the Elf did the same. His host crossed his arms and said slowly, “You are known to me, Nag Kath. What brings you here?”

“Curiosity mostly, but also whispers of troubles, Lord Elf.”

The leader nodded and his men disbursed. “Walk with me, Nag Kath. You can leave your horse here.”

Nag Kath dropped the reins and they climbed the staired-Mallorn two levels to a large flat area that reminded him of a frog pad. Except for the extraordinary care, it also reminded him of the little forts children make in the branches of oak trees. The leader sat on a stool and gestured for his guest to do the same before saying, “You have a good reputation in the northern Halls. Their views are similar to ours.”

The changeling replied, “That was generous of them, Lord …”

“Gilfandros. And not Lord.”

“Lord Fearnold came to the King of Dale’s investiture this spring and we spoke briefly.”

“What do you hope to do while you are here, Nag Kath?”

“Not much, Gilfandros. If you have a library I should like a look. I have healing skills and always want to improve those, or can lend aid if needed. With your permission, I should also like to draw your city. Mostly I wanted to come. It might not be long before these places are closed to such as me.”

The leader said nothing so Nag Kath continued, “I told your ohtar of small troubles too. A sect of Easterlings wishes for the dark days. They have been destroyed by arms but that never gets the root. I may be in these lands for long years. It is probably nothing, but if you catch the scent of unclean sorcery, please know you have friends among men of good will.”

The fellow held his chin in hand and said, “I had not heard. Those were born of Maiar, or even Valar in their time. We are ever mindful, Nag Kath. As to books, there is nothing here. It was all taken by Celeborn when he left. My people are returning to the forests that nurture us. We hold in memory that which we cherish.”

“I respect your choice, Gilfandros. Are there any of the Ñoldor left?”

“No. Thranduil’s son was here a few seasons ago but I have lost track. He, like you, is much among men, Dwarves also.”

“Then I will take no more of your time. Thank you for your courtesy and for the chance to visit this lovely place.”

_____________------_____________

Nag Kath climbed down the stairs and collected Charlo. Gilfandros said he could sleep in a small hollow that was unclaimed. No one else spoke to him though many peered. Dinner was Lembas and so was breakfast. He spent the next day sketching. Late in the afternoon he heard a rasping voice say, “Orc Six.”

Logass was standing not five feet away. “Good day, Master Logass. I wondered if your people were here.”

“Just me and my wife. These Elves remain so we are not really needed.”

“It is good to see you just the same. These folk sing well but I have not heard stories. I was sorry to hear there are no secret volumes.”

“Hugghm. No. All gone. Do you still pursue healing ways?”

“I do, but just for men. I have been disappointed by how little I can do for ailments that linger.”

Logass held his own pointed chin, “Ask the mirror. You are of water.”

“Galadriel’s Mirror?”

“The same.”

Nag Kath shook his head, “I thought she would have taken that first among all possessions.”

Logass shook his head too, “Can’t. It is set in rock. It might only work here. I will show you.” The chief keeper led Nag Kath along a twisted path somewhat downwards among the massive Mallorn roots. Elves along the way noticed him but few looked at Logass.

Light did not penetrate far. Logass climbed on a step and looked down on a silver dish set in an altar of stone. “Hugghm. These Elves never wash anything. Give me a cloth.”

Nag Kath rummaged in his satchel for a rag that was not very clean and handed it to the keeper who then rubbed the dull plating of a shallow bowl anchored to the pedestal. The Elf poured some of his canteen water in to help with the shining and then refilled it at a rivulet not twenty feet away.

“Hugghm. The Elves here now do not have your powers so they do not bother. Pour your water in and then several more. Nag Kath did so as Logass stood down and away from the mirror. 

Frodo’s account was more about his emotions than specifics but this was a seeing tool for the most powerful sorceress of Elfkind. After the third canteen-full, Nag Kath peeped in the bowl and then back over to the keeper. “What am I looking for?”

“How would I know?”

Nag Kath leaned over the basin again and saw nothing. After a few minutes he touched the side of the bowl and his hand glowed silver. Pulling it away he began to see outlines.

There were faces. Some were Elves. He wondered if they were spirits of those who lived here. The last face was a handsome man with raven hair and white skin. He might be attractive to women but there was no living warmth at all. Like the other images, the face was not in focus. If that was a true face, he was looking over Nag Kath’s shoulder. The image became a fist driving into water. He did not … was not supposed to … recognize it, but the pattern of Orlo’s tea leaves swirled in his mind for an instant. Then the mirror was clear.

It seemed only a few seconds but when he looked about, Logass was sitting on a rock near the rivulet. “Logass, how long was I gazing?”

“Not long, two or three minutes.”

“I saw faces, frozen in time. It felt as if they were all long past, but not my past.”

“Hugghm. I expect you are tired of Lembas, Orc Six.”

Back at the small keeper’s quarters, the Elf quickly sketched the last face in the mirror. He seemed more important than the rest. He thanked his hosts and left at dawn, making the inn before dark.


	20. The White City

**_Chapter 20_ **

**_The White City_ **

“Oh, Mr. Kath! You’re back! Come in, come in!” Turnlie curtsied to the five people behind him and grinned as they trooped in. There would be even more room for them here than in Dale, probably as much as the ambassador’s residence on the sixth. The Daleans were thunderstruck turning the bend and seeing the White Towers spiking to the clouds. Nag Kath’s drawings could not compete with the scale.

It would be dinner soon. Loral saw to her Ladyship’s things and everyone else saw to theirs. Reyald did not travel with aides, expecting the Ambassador’s staff to remain as they were. Once arranged, Loral returned downstairs to help Turnlie with the evening meal. They still had time to market so both women chatted as they left with their baskets. Touching all the people he wanted to see could wait until tomorrow at least.

The servants returned with a man-cart. There was not only dinner but many other things to feed a pair of teenagers for merely a week. Turnlie arranged deliveries of known needs while she was in the stalls. After placing her baskets in the kitchen, she gazed at Nag Kath with a look to suggest they might have a word.

“Tum sent a letter that he saw Mrs. Florice, Mr. Kath. He said she was in a terrible way. That was about three months after you left. He told Mrs. Talereth but I haven’t heard since. That doesn’t mean there isn’t more, but I don’t know and I haven’t seen her.” Turnlie started to cry but soldiered on, “I’m so sorry, Mr. Kath.” Tumlen must have said she did not have Helien with her.

“There, there, Turnlie. Don’t you worry. Let us just take care of this family and all’s well, eh?

The stout cook wiped her eyes with her sleeve and said, “I got chickens for the family and trout for you.”

The Conaths took the tour with the Elf guide the next day. They walked the switchbacks, visited parks, had an ‘Elvish’ lunch on the fourth and started shopping for all of the things they would need for diplomatic life in the world’s capital. A little time was spent boarding their horses. The neighborhood stable couldn’t take six new ones so three stayed there and the other three were placed at the main stables on the first.

That evening Nag Kath dashed off quick notes to everyone saying he was back, resulting in a rash of appointments here and there. He had better throw a party soon to see everyone!

_____________------_____________

Since it was business too, the Elf visited Broughtur and Sylveth Mülto. She had just turned seventy and he was only a couple years behind. The hundred Florin had been almost all invested in business or family rentals on the third level where they lived. Other than a roof falling in after the purchase, the places were rented and cash was coming in. Nag Kath got a list with no plans to inspect them. 

From there he walked to the home of Amiedes Tallazh. If he was still with us, the man would eighty-eight in a month. A grown great-grandchild answered the door and recognized him immediately. Tea was on its way before he sat. The woman disappeared down the hall and came back holding the arm of his beloved mentor. They shook hands and he was helped into his favorite chair.

“I did not expect to see you so soon, Nag Kath.” The man chortled and coughed a little. “A cold from the spring has been slow to leave.”

“I can probably do something for that.”

“Oh, would you?” Tallazh offered a frail arm. The Elf gently took it in one hand and placed his other hand on his counselor’s chest. Both hands offered the barest silver pulling the faintest yellow. Most men of Middle-earth, to say nothing of their wives, would have blanched at the healing, but the old scholar knew almost everything there was to know about his physician. He coughed a couple more times into a handkerchief produced from a sleeve and said, “Yes, I think that will help.”

With mock gravity, Nag Kath pronounced, “That means I will have to visit frequently to finish the work.”

Tallazh offered a wan grin, “I will make sure to be here. Now that we have finished …” Both of them gratefully accepted a mug of tea. “… finished with hello, I am sure you are hip-deep in new intrigues. I heard of the battle at the Rhûn.”

“That could have gone worse.” Nag Kath pulled two papers from his satchel and handed them to Tallazh. 

The former scholar took his spectacles from a blouse pocket and muttered, “Yes, I have seen some of these, this one in particular.” Amiedes pointed at the same rune the Easterling Minister recalled. “Sometimes they are embroidered in clothing. I saw them in Transagri. That close, they may be of Harad too.”

The old man stared off into the room for a moment. “But you are not buying clothes, are you?”

“I traced that off a rock used by one of the Usurper’s acolytes. He seemed to think it could summon powers.”

Tallazh put on his spectacles back on and studied the sheet more closely. The runes were rough and the tracing rougher. He handed the sheet back saying, “That was Sauron’s ground, off and on, for thousands of years. But even dark Lords have to speak in terms folk can understand.”

He looked softly into Nag Kath’s eyes and said, “I know you must know, but please, Nag Kath, turn aside if you feel drawn to such things. These are probably just symbols reminding men of when they were important.”

“I am ever mindful of that, old friend. As it happens, the Usurper’s lads are hoping to bring dark sorcery on their side. For now they are floating in the Celduin but I killed a few of their da’s back when. I would like to know if there is anything to this.”

Tallazh was at peace, “I trust you, dear boy. Remember Mendies?”

“No.”

“He was the scholar who brought me to your interrogation.”

“Red hat?”

“Yes, he dropped dead twenty years ago, but he had a pupil who dabbled in arcane arts and then earned a lot of money in higher counting, dividing large numbers and such. I do not recall his name but they keep records of who studied under whom. You have influence. Just ask.

The intelligence showed through in the next sheet, “You have been saving the best for last.”

Nag Kath handed him the drawing of the dark man in the mirror. Tallazh pulled his spectacles off his forehead and studied it closely. “This does not look like your work. I hope you aren’t slipping.”

For the first and, hopefully, last time, he had to name the source. It needed impact, “I saw him through the mirror of Galadriel. The image was unclear.”

Tallazh looked up at the Elf’s face with genuine surprise, or awe, or even a touch of foreboding. Then he absorbed the face again. “He is a bad man, well, not man, a bad Elf I should think. He wears no regalia. Is this someone living?”

Nag Kath shook his head slightly, “I have no idea. There were other faces, all frozen in time. This one stayed with me and I tried to draw him afterwards. You are right. He is not someone to mind the children.” Tallazh was tiring. His protégé said, “I will come back in three days and see to that malady. Until then, old friend.”

_____________------_____________

Reyald was visiting the current ambassador so Nag Kath took Ardatha with him to meet Tal for tea that afternoon. He would be lucky to get a word in edgewise. Talereth was nearing sixty and finally losing the battle with her prodigious appetite. She had always said someday she would have to choose between her face and her bottom. Ardatha was no slip of a girl either. He was sure they would get on famously. And there was nothing either of them couldn’t know about him.

Tal kissed both his cheeks and did the same for Ardatha. His step-daughter was not priggish but this told her she would have to adapt to big city customs! Elvish dining was already out of fashion on the fifth level. This place featured small game birds grown like chickens for thrice the price. He had tea. And he was right, the women talked about things for the children, places to go, where to get the right clothes and all else. 

Ardatha’s mother was his second love. Talereth was his first. Ardatha saw his tastes. They were good tastes. Risking a raw subject, Tal asked, “What news of old friends, Nag?” It was the look after that gave it context.

“I heard Tumlen saw some in Osgiliath, maybe a year ago. I’ll be over there shortly.”

“Say hello to the dear man for me. Say hello to the bootmaker on the second too. I never seem to get down there anymore.” That would be Florice’s sister. Did he really want to know? Tumlen first. 

Talereth and Ardatha were dear friends for as long as they lived.

___________---------__________

Timalen and Marie got his letter but Tim almost never wrote back. There were probably notes from Nag Kath’s first return to Minas Tirith in the middle of stacks piled about the man’s studio. Marie kept the third floor as clean as a whistle and poured tea before sitting down. Tim said, “I hope you gave Tal my best. Her daughter is a real artist now, parlayed her water acquaintances and now does family pictures like you used to. I didn’t say it but there’s a handsome, unsuitable man interested.”

Marie said, “Oh Tim, you’re terrible. Nag, he’s a dear fellow.”

“Finished at the river?”

“Oh yeah. Lords over here decided they want busts. Paintings are for commoners. I’m six months behind with a former student roughing the stones. Too messy for here so I hired a shop on the first. You know, Nag, there are some people who oughtn’t be remembered forever. Oh, that reminds me, your going to love your statue.”

“What?”

Tim chuckled, “My lips are sealed. You’ll know when you see it.”

That night dinner was lively. Ardatha had a full-quiver of ideas thanks to Tal’s inside knowledge of things to do in upper Minas Tirith. Tal already knew better than half of the ambassador’s wives. Ectelliad was fully-retired but still managing his shares. Their son’s attitude was better.

Reyald reported that Ambassador Miranad would be quietly relieved to give up his post a little early. He had been a stop-gap appointment when Bard’s health began to fail and had business back in Dale. If Reyald could give him two weeks to pack his bags, they could discuss pending matters and wave farewell. 

Shurran decided he would be a Scholar! It seemed such an august position. His mother reminded him that his reading and writing needed work so they decided to hire a tutor, hoping to bring him up to city standards. Eniecia was still overawed. The country lass was wide-eyed at teeming Dale. Here was that much more again! Talereth rode to the rescue. There was a girls’ reading class on the fifth she would have no trouble joining. 

Their new home on the sixth seemed awfully grand to barkers on the first, but to do anything interesting, one had to walk downstairs. Most of the sixth level housed government offices. The residence was slightly north of the prow so at least it wasn’t far from the switchback.

Shurran’s scholarship reminded Nag Kath of an errand. He appeared early at the archives. This would have seemed an august hall as well but its few window seats were jealously guarded by seniority and sharp elbows. Occasional fires had started when candles in the interior fired ancient pages shuffled in haste. 

In Gondor he was still Kath of the Water. The desk clerk greeted him by name and Nag Kath explained his search. Remaldagar had been there thirty years and remembered old Mendies. That helped as he pored over ledgers retrieved from an even darker archive. Only knowing about when the student was engaged meant beetling through half a dozen of the books. Of three possibles, one stood out.

It was a nice home in a middling neighborhood on the second, the sort of place successful merchants lived when they wanted to stay close to their business. Nag Kath knocked three times. Elf ears heard movement inside but it took a few minutes for someone to slide the peep-hatch open and look up at his face. An aged female voice asked, “Yes?”

“Esteemed Scholars thought Mr. Vientis could consult.”

That took a few moments to digest. The face in the port said, “I will ask.” The hatch slipped shut and he waited another five minutes until the door swung wide open revealing a middle-aged man with spectacles and the five-inch hair-part favored by academics. He said nothing.

“Good day, Mr. Vientis. I am Nag Kath and wanted some of your time to consult on matters of antiquity.”

Making no invitation, the fellow said, “I am long past such lore. Are you sure you have the right man?”

“I assist Mr. Grown.” That was a polite way of saying this was official business.

Vientis moved aside and said, “Please come in. I hope Mr. Grown is recovered from his ailments. Mother, I am sure this gentleman would love some of your delicious tea.” It was delicious. And it would take a long time to get. The former Scholar led Nag Kath to a very nice studio catching good light most of the day. He motioned for the Elf to be comfortable and sat across the low table.

It was Nag Kath’s turn to talk. How much dare he reveal? “One of my oldest friends is Amiedes Tallazh. He remembered one of Mendies’ adepts studied lore of the far east.”

“Kath … Kath of the Celduin?”

So much for the element of surprise. “Among other places.”

Vientis sat back in the cushion. He took a closer look at his visitor’s face and said, “I am now a private Scholar of counting, some of it for your water chute, for which I thank you.”

The Elf pulled the tracing from his satchel and handed it to the Counter. “Do any of those bring back old times, Mr. Vientis?”

The man set the paper on the table and excused himself to fetch a large round glass circled in silver with a handle. It was a huge version of Nag Kath’s fire starting crystal. The finest Mordor glass; it would have cost a stack. He looked closely at all eight markings before laying the sheet and glass on the table.

The Elf asked, “Do you know the meaning of any, Mr. Vientis?”

“Three. Pointing to the one everyone recognized he said, “This is Fûl, the rune of strength. A much altered version of it is used in Harad even still. This one is Granzth, hard for our tongues to say. It means patience. This last one I’m not so certain. I think it is Fïlsh, symbol of lasting or endurance.”

“What are these, sir?”

The Counter said, “Now there you get differing opinions. I was taught these are the symbols for eastern godlings, their version of Maiar. Each has a strength or weakness so they are combined for the blessing or curse. There are more than these.”

Nag Kath leveled with him, “It could be of great moment that the intention does not come to pass, part of the bother on the river.”

“Mr. Kath, may I ask how this concerns Mr. Grown?”

Nag Kath needed this man’s help. An obsessed scholar searching for eternal darkness would have abandoned the quest for mere money. Vienties began, “Mr. Gro …” Mother bustled in with a two steaming mugs and nodded before placing them on the table. Both men smiled and thanked her. Nudging; “Mr. Grown’s concerns?”

“The unsuccessful Easterling had adherents in his army exhorting men to battle believing this had power. They were carved on a stone that may itself have held power. That stone was crushed. So was the army. Mr. Grown and others want them to stay crushed.”

The Elf handed Vientis his card if he thought of anything else. 

_____________------_____________

Now three days here, the Conath’s had more places to visit than time. The man of the house was hardened Thain-kin and his wife was a Princess of Dale so Nag Kath wasn’t needed. He saddled Charlo and made for Osgiliath. Men were fiddling with the water spout across the bridge again. They probably always would.

He tied Charlo to the post outside of Tumlen’s home and knocked. A short, cheerful young woman opened the door and was about to ask his business when she recognized what must be her new husband’s partner. There were not a lot like him. In barely more than a whisper she said, “Tum’s at your old headquarters.”

He courteously asked, “And who might you be, miss?”

“Missus. Tum is my man. I’m Antille.”

“Then I’m sure I will see you again soon. Thank you.” 

“Nag Kath, you old rascal! Thought you were off for years.”

The Elf shook his head, “I even surprise myself.”

“Heard about the fight.”

“Has anyone not heard about that?”

Tumlen was philosophical, “No. But the more who know it now, the more will forget in six months. 

“I am still trying to shake ‘Kath of the Water’.”

Tumlen stifled a laugh and snorted out his nose. He recovered quickly and added, “Or Kath of the Wargs!” The young businessman was following Brenen’s example of getting broad abeam. What was it about estate agency? 

“I met the little woman. Good for you Tum.”

“We’ve been sweet since we were ten. It was time. Business is good. I used the money to buy the Fierven wharf, a couple warehouses and a place across the river. It collapsed in the right spot so we’ll put something in its place.” 

Tumlen lost a little of his buoyancy, “Turnlie tell you I saw her?”

Nag Kath sat down in his usual chair. “She did, a year ago?”

“A year ago August. Almost walked into her by the Great River Inn, of all places. Flor did not recognize me. I am not sure what she recognizes. I’m sorry, Nag. You come back here and all you get is misery. She was filthy and wandering around like she was lost. I tried to keep an eye on her but she went into a tea shop and never came out. I had to get back here so I went in to find her and she was gone.”

Tum said the next part slowly, “She didn’t have the girl.”

“Girl’s dead, Tum. So’s the fancy man.”

Tumlen favored Nag Kath’s habit of not making a bad thing worse.

Nag Kath kept on, “I set up a bank draft for her if she ever claims it.”

“Want I should talk to her, Nag?”

“You can, but you don’t have to. Give her some money if she needs it.”

There wasn’t much more to say about Florice Kath. To break the pall, Nag Kath asked, “What tidings of the water?”

“It still works well. Dirt under the south sluice caved-in. They shut the gate and rebuilt it. Not much fever, but it was a dry winter so that doesn’t signify.”

“Tim said I should see something but didn’t say what.”

Tumlen gave his same snort/laugh. “Let’s go.”

According to ancient Gondoran protocol, the master builder of a project was entitled to a statue or relief carving respectfully away from the high Lords. Before he rode north, someone in the government sent him a letter that seemed to say he could put whatever he wanted in the space so he had Tim craft a sculpture of a worker in remembrance of the men killed in the landslide. It was completed after he left.

Administrations being what they are, Osgiliath insisted one of their sculptors complete the dedications on the base of his statue. After they walked past grand Elessar and Faramir, Tumlen made a theatrical arm wave to show the name ‘Nag Kath’ carved in huge common letters on the pedestal of a life-sized Dunlending holding a shovel.

A man of breeding and stature would have been appalled. The orc started laughing until his sides hurt. He had to sit down. Tum howled through his own tears, “I think he captured you perfect.”

Neither of them stopped laughing all the way back to the office.

_____________------_____________

Seeing everyone in Osgiliath and taking a ride to the Cascade got the Elf home three days later. No one missed him. He did get a reply from the King the day before asking him to come to the palace two day’s hence. 

His waking rest was unsettled. He might have to be an Elf another thousand years before things like this got easy. If he had to do something, he could without fear or hesitation. If he didn’t, he thought too much. The decision was whether to visit Flor’s sister Ernielle. He liked the woman and would have no problems wishing her well. But he wasn’t sure he wanted to know what happened to Florice. In the end he decided he was immortal and would get over it.

Ernielle’s husband Waldor was a cobbler with two journeymen and an apprentice, so they did well. His shop was on the second, north of the prow. Nag Kath walked down and knocked on the door of the home above the leather works. Waldor came out from the shop and looked at the visitor. On this level, he watched that sort of thing. When Nag Kath came over to the rail the cobbler shouted, “Hello Nag Kath. Ernielle should be back any minute.” He climbed the stairs slowly and unlocked the door. 

Nag Kath had not been here before. It was a comfortable home and showed the signs of two well-loved children bumping and chasing through the furniture. Waldor hung his stout apron on a peg by the door and said, “Always got cold tea.”

“Thank you, Waldor. I need moisture for this.”

It was hard to tell the man’s expressions through a moustache that seemed to cover his whole face but it seemed thoughtful. Waldor brought two mugs and sat in one of the four chairs around a small eating table. Nag Kath sat next to him. Neither said anything. This was Ernielle’s conversation. It was more like ten minutes but she opened the door and closed it without noticing either of the men. When she turned with her basket she stopped a moment before silently setting it by the basin and getting a mug of her own.

“Hullo, Nag. Been a while.”

“I went north.”

“We heard. You’re famous again.”

“I never get used to that.”

Ernielle drank about half of her mug. “What have you heard?”

“My man in Osgiliath said he saw her last summer. I wanted to see both of you too. You always treated me fair.”

Waldor said, “Thank you.”

Ernielle wrung her hands like she was shuffling a deck of cards and said, “She came here in May. The baby died. I suppose you know that. This time she was in clean clothes. She said she might stay a while and I wanted to believe her but she got on the ferry two weeks later and I haven’t heard since.”

Nag Kath said, “How is she getting on?”

“She don’t say so I don’t ask. Figure she has a man. She always has the wrong man.” Ernielle realized what she said and started to cry, “I didn’t mean you, Nag. Not you. You were so good to her.”

“I divorced her before I went to Dale. She is free to do what she wants. There is a small monthly income for her at the Royal Bank if she goes in and signs for it. That’s whether I am here or not. Would you tell her if you see her?” 

That was impossible largess for working folk on the second. She left behind his back and he still would give her money? They knew the child wasn’t his but didn’t care. Both of them wanted a baby and she did what she had to. 

Waldor said, “We’ll tell her if she ever comes back. She was in Pelargir. Don’t know now.”

Nag Kath said, “This doesn’t change things with us. You are friends and welcome in my home. I’ve got my first family with me now so there’s always tea, maybe something stronger after work.”

As he rose Ernielle asked, “If she shows, should she come see you?”

The Elf stood stock still and finally said, “Yes. Yes, I’d like to know she is all right.” 

_____________------_____________

“The King will see you now, Lord Kath.”

He rose and was ushered into Elessar’s office. The King had not arrived so the attendant had him take a seat and posted a guard by the door. Not everything in this room was for public viewing. Aragorn came in half a bell later and accepted the Elf’s bow before shaking hands and sitting next to him. His Lordship said, “We have been much on the road. Maybe next year we can take our ease.”

“True, My Lord, but the road is so safe with fluffy beds, it is almost like taking home with us.”

Aragorn grinned, “I still take the shortcuts. Now, I received your request, what news?”

"I found a former Scholar with his own business able to make sense of the runes. He will quietly rummage the files and let me know what he finds. I apologize, Sire. My main purpose is more for your Lady Wife.” Nag Kath took the mirror’s image from his folio and handed it to Aragorn, saying nothing but watching the man’s eyes closely.

The King earnestly said, “Yes, this is more of her people than mine. Not a merry fellow; this. Should I know him?”

“I doubt it, Sire. He may belong to the ages.”

Aragorn got the sense that he should see if Arwen was available. He took the picture with him. It was another bell before the royal couple returned. Nag Kath rose and bowed again and was seated as they took their places.

Arwen started, “I did not recognize this figure either, Nag Kath. It seems less defined than your other work.”

“My Lady, it is an image taken from your grandmother’s mirror in Lorien.”

He had the couple’s full attention. Arwen’s initial reaction was to ask him how he entered Caras Galadhon and left alive. She knew better. Elves who had not seen him emerge from the dungeon would see him as he is now.

“Tell me of your visit.”

“It took me some time to find the entrance off the Celebrant. When I entered, I was challenged and escorted by two Silvan ohtars to their leader, a fellow named Gilfandros. I told him I was only there briefly, thinking I might never get another chance. Once they knew my purpose, I was completely ignored. I made some sketches with plans not to leave my family waiting long at the inn.”

The Rulers of Gondor were stone silent. The Elf continued, “Logass the keeper approached me. He and his wife are the only of their kind there and wondering why since the place bustles with Elves. He is a gruff creature but inoffensive. He asked me of my healing and I said I had not made the progress I had hoped. Since he knew me to be a sorcerer of water, he took me to the mirror. We had to clean and fill it. It took some time to respond but then I saw a series of faces. They were lifeless, as if I had painted them. Four or five came and went before this one who lingered. I saw a fist splash in water and the mirror surrendered no more secrets.”

She asked gently, “Do the other Elves use it?”

“Logass said they could not, My Queen.”

Arwen knew it took power to drive the mirror. Nag Kath had gained in strength. His experience was more like her own than her grandmother’s who saw images in motion. How skilled was this creature? How powerful would he become? He had matured.

Arwen wondered, “Did you learn of healing?”

“No, My Lady, just the faces. Some I thought I recognized at first but never did put names to them. This man, if man he is, seemed to be looking behind me. He chills the blood. My question for you, Lady Arwen, is if Elvish peoples kept portraits or paintings.” I earned a living drawing them for weddings and such. If art exists, it may offer clues.”

She said, “For a time yes, but most were destroyed long ago in the calamity of Elvish wars or fire drakes.”

Aragorn asked, “What will you do next? I have no great quests for you.”

“I will stay the winter, Your Highnesses. Reyald and Ardatha are settling-in and it will be nice to spend time with my younger grandchildren. I do not know them well. Come spring, I may return to the Rhûn. Something tells me we have allies there, long hidden allies who have taken the measure of darkness.”

Queen Arwen Undómiel sat like a statue after the changeling was shown out. Elessar watched her closely. Moving only her mouth she asked, “Are you still sure?”

“Yes, my love. Though it is more my faith than reason.”

“I have no faith in remade orcs.” She looked up, “He treads in dark waters. He gains in power. I have long feared this. How much is too much? At what point will he be beyond our control?”

Aragorn was about to answer when the last of the Ñoldorin in Middle-earth said through her teeth, “Please, husband, do not let him wreck Sauron’s vengeance on our Fourth Age.” 

_____________------_____________

Reyald presented himself as the representative of the Court of Dale in early October and the family moved to the sixth. They tried to eat with Uncle Nag once a week. The children were adapting, even shy Eniecia was making friends in her reading circle. 

It seemed very quiet in the home now. Turnlie still sang and hummed to herself and he was glad of her. She had friends who had permission to visit when he was in Dale and he still allowed that, though while the Conaths were here there wasn’t much time. There was still the unfinished first floor with its buried secrets. 

Nag Kath had not heard, nor did he expect to hear, from Ernielle. His offer of friendship was earnest but they had nothing in common now and there would always be pain. He saw Tal and Ecc. He laughed with Tim asking of the Dunnish inspiration for the statue. The sculptor still had the inscription, ‘in honor of those lost’ in the warehouse. Nag Kath could complain but Tum was right, it caught him perfectly. He did not want to be famous. 

Mr. Tallazh was feeling much better after three healings and even watered some of the herbs in his little garden. Nag Kath continued to see him twice a week whenever he was in Minas Tirith. 

_____________-------_____________

Two weeks after his visit, he got a note from Scholar Vientis asking him to stop-by the next day at the five-bell. Nag Kath presented himself but was still inspected from the peep-door before admittance. There seemed no other people around even though the old woman could not have kept the home up by herself. He was shown to the airy office where the Scholar offered him the same seat.

“I was not expecting to enjoy the work as much as I did, Mr. Kath. It took longer because there was more there than I thought and because the archives were near a popular section on Elvish languages. Now that the Elves are gone, men’s hearts grow fonder.”

Nag Kath might not be considered an Elf so he took no offense. “Thank you. Was there any other interest in ancient runes?”

The Scholar said, “Everything had been restacked and cleaned perhaps ten years ago but these had as much new dust as the rest. I didn’t feel any eyes looking over my shoulder.”

When Nag Kath waited patiently, Vientis opened a small folio sitting on the table and turned it right-side-up for his guest. Then he pulled away the top sheet of paper. “This is a list of every symbol I could find of the same time as the ones you brought. Five of your eight are included along with six that were not. 

“All this assumes that I was taught right and these represent immortals known by those qualities and defects. Now, and this is material, the sequence of the symbols matters. Ancient men of this far land ordered them to stress some qualities and mitigate others. Think of it as a recipe. 

Nag Kath said, “With three missing it will be hard to learn the desired effect.”

The Scholar said, “It is worse than that. I do not know how to interpret how each counteracts the others or even which direction to read them. What I have are the symbols, the immortal they represent and what little is known of their character. With the five of yours and six more I have six males and five females. The only new names I could ferret-put were; Telloch, Ulorö, Mastach and Mastagl … these four here. If they are based on our teachings, you should have seven of each sex.”

This was interesting but did not get Nag Kath much closer to his purpose. “Mr. Vientis, did you uncover anything to suggest Sauron had a part in this?”

“No, but remember he could, or it was claimed he could, change at need. If he insinuated himself into these beliefs, it would accomplish the same goal. Also consider the servants; the Nazgûl. It was they who actually tyrannized the land. By accounts, the Dark Lord seldom traveled."

Nag Kath gave that long pause, “Servants …? I had not considered that.”

“Oh yes. The nine. We think of them as riders of the dragons but they were in sinister employ for long years, many while Sauron was building his strength in secret. Terrible rulers and wizards; they were.” Vientis took a breath for; “I say this with dire caution. The symbol Fûl you found … I believe that is the sigil of the Witch-King of Angmar.”

Both exhaled at the same time. The Elf stood by bracing his hands on his knees and gathering himself. “Thank you, Scholar Vientis. Every piece helps.”

The bald scholar blinked and offered, “Then there were the wind-speakers. Have you heard of them?”

“Not a peep.”

“It was said that servants of the dark lord could speak over great distances throughout Harad. It was they who organized the human hosts he brought to the Pelennor and the Black Gate. They disappeared after the war without a trace – perhaps to the same end as the rest.”

Let us hope so, Mr. Vientis. Now, have you considered your compensation?”

“Tell me where this leads.”

_____________------_____________

Nag Kath wasn’t sure he wanted to host a Syndolan Eve party this year. At the end of October he had a banquet in Osgiliath with friends from the water crew. Most were found and largely landed on their feet either with positions maintaining the line or, like Mr. Sepulvath, helping others bring water into businesses and homes. He especially enjoyed seeing Fanos Talfurmir and recalling stories of his brave brother on the river. They closed the tavern with many tales left for the next time.

Now, what about the holiday? It bothered him was he had no Neurae or Lady Hostess. That still hurt. Ardatha would be a perfect replacement but this being Reyald’s first season; the Conath’s needed to attend the King’s competing party. And he was scandalously short of Hobbits and Dwarves. In the end, he decided that planning was better than moping so he hired Mr. Gerandis to organize things and made his guest list.

In an experimental and mildly dangerous side-project, Nag Kath contacted the man who did the King’s fireworks. Aragorn should have brought a trove of the best fire-powders from Orthanc in time for last year’s festivities but no one seemed to remember them. 

Rubend Doroust was what Nag Kath would have imagined if someone hired him to paint a Scholar/bricklayer. Doroust heard of the rockets fired over charging Lings at the river along with everyone else so he gladly agreed to meet. His workshop was on the second level, less than a hundred paces from the cobbler. The man made all sorts of mechanical devices and tools by special order. Failed projects were three-deep on wall pegs waiting for something else that could use the parts. Nag Kath was glad the little portion of the large shop reserved for fireworks had no weed-pipes or stoves.

“Pleasure to meet you Lord Kath.”

“Just Nag Kath.”

“Still a pleasure. You simply must tell me about those river rockets.”

“Those were fairly easy. You just have to pack the tube tightly enough so it can only burn on one end. Too loose and it all goes at once. Shape the tip like an arrowhead to fly true and don’t stand too close.”

“That’s how I do it! Try mixing a shot of strong barley spirits with the powder so it sticks together when you stuff the tube.” When they got to ingredients the man admitted, “To be honest, Mister … Nag Kath, I just hate making the powder. Composting chicken dougsh and cow pee together aren’t how I like to spend my day.” Nag Kath pressed him slightly on the process. Considering the filthy pod pits in Orthanc, it was no wonder that Saruman had enough waste to blow a hole in the Deeping Wall. 

Doroust had not mentioned receiving Gandalf’s powders. If the King had other plans for them, it wasn’t Nag Kath’s place to mention it. He gave the inventor a supply of his own and showed him how to wrap spoonfuls in paper like dear Belfalas’ meat pies and put them in the sharp end of the rocket to explode in different colors.

Now, where would he shoot his? Doroust could fire them off the prow with little risk. If Nag Kath shot his off the fourth, they might land on the fifth. Perhaps the Osgiliath bridge? Nearly incinerating the Dale wharf was a concern until the soldier shooting them from the jetty admitted he hadn’t secured the rocket and it fell over as he lit the fuse.

The King’s rocketeer added, “You are a wondering sort. Have you worked with lodestones?”

“Just holding them under parchment to move spoons.”

“Hughmm, there’s more than that. If you have time, come this way.”

Doroust had his shop laid-out with different tables for different disciplines unlike Gandalf who dumped everything on the same desk. They walked a few feet over to a clay bowl holding an inch of water. “If I put a nail against a loadstone for a week and push it through a little wooden raft, it points to the prow, does it every time.”

That seemed interesting. Nag Kath looked at the nail as it wobbled unsteadily, gradually reducing the drift until it floated with the tip towards the yarn market. As he thought, the image of Orlo’s tea leaves flashed in his mind, unbidden, and was gone in a blink. This time he remembered it. The Elf recovered his wits and asked the inventor to keep him abreast of his inquiries. He walked out of the shop with a head full of questions.

That was a message. But how? The old man in gaol as hostage for a thieving in-law? Perhaps, but if the Rhûnic counsellor told truth, and he had no reason not to, the Khan’s family was not as described. Why the leaves? 

Nag Kath decided he needed to discover that mystery, see where it led.

_____________------_____________

Syndolan arrived! Nag Kath needn’t have worried. The house was packed. There were five musicians this time including a young woman with a beautiful voice. Everyone sang Syndolan songs until they sang tavern songs. To the Elf’s surprise, there were a few Catanales, solo Catanard songs, too. 

Tall and Ecc came just in time to see Nag Kath’s fireworks fired from the Anduin on the eight-bell with Shurran and Eniecia in tow. Tumlen arranged for a boatman to shoot them while floating through the city. They wouldn’t compare to the show in an hour from the prow but locals in Osgiliath lined the banks in their hundreds to watch. Nothing burned down.

Ectilliad was still a distinguished man. With Tal on his arm they were a fine couple. Her hair was now almost completely white. Having just looked at the picture he drew of her thirty-some years ago, he thought she had aged very well. Teldamir came with his wife. He hadn’t made the Osgiliath banquet so it was good to know he was well. 

At the ten-bell people started trickling out for the walk or cart ride home. It was a pleasant night so after seeing Mr. Xhandar and his daughter to the door, Nag Kath sat on the porch bench and watched the stars. A minute later Tal sat next to him while Ecc talked to the Youndors and collecting the kids. “Good party, Nag. They always are.”

“Thanks, Tal. I almost didn’t have one this year. A lot of water has flowed down my river since the last.”

She said softly, “I know. Do you miss her?”

“And the baby.”

Tal murmured, “And the baby.” In a stronger voice, “I have just the girl for you. Almost brought her.”

“Oh no you don’t.”

“You have no choice, Elf. Old ladies need hobbies and that is one of my favorites.”

“It is likely I will be doing something dangerous come spring, might be gone a long time.”

“Can you tell me?”

“No. I am not even sure why. I can’t tell anyone, let alone a lady love.”

Tal stated unconvincingly, “I’ll abstain. It won’t be long before Ardatha has to chase the boys away from Eniecia.”

“I noticed. Is she making friends?”

“Yes. She is still quiet, like you. She doesn’t say something just to fill the silence.”

“She got Eniece’s looks, even more of Eniece’s mother. Granna Borenne is eighty one and still striking. I do not know how those delicate features survive hulking Northmen … Dúnedain, maybe. Going by the statue in Dale, Ardatha looks more like her da with enough of Eniece to not have a Dwarf nose.”

Ecc appeared at the door with their charges. Tal kissed Nag Kath’s cheek as she rose and said softly, “You must take better care of yourself, here and in the wild. We cannot follow you, but we can love you in our time.” She winked and took her husband’s arm up the path.


	21. An Invitation

**_Chapter 21_ **

**_An Invitation_ **

**The next section relies largely on the map called; Khand Topo.<https://imgur.com/gallery/jHPlDU8>**

This belonged to him. For his first life of men, Nag Kath either followed paths laid before him or reacted to what he found. His goals were still drive created by others wishing him to use his powers for their ends. They were good ends. He considered his own deep goals and decided he really didn’t have them. Righting wrongs and great deeds seemed worthy employment and it helped his insatiable curiosity. Curiosity was, perhaps, his greatest gift from the transformation - the hardest trait for a former Uruk. If his life was as long as everyone else thought, he needed to stay engaged, lest he drift into boredom and regret for not having done much. Others considered him quite productive. He just thought of it as staying busy. 

As for quests; there were sorceries in the east. There might be answers there too. The stone of the Easterlings had less to do with it that he originally thought. It might be a talisman of an ancient. It could have been carved last year. It might mean absolutely nothing. But there was that feeling. Then there was the old man in Kugavod. He was of those lands, closer even than the current Bror, and yet had a much different view of life. Orlo sought the light. And his dead brother-in-law didn’t owe money. The miserly Bror saw the chance to fleece the blonde greenbottom and took it.

Evidence failed him. Why had an area under relentless pressure from Sauron for millennia been so hapless in the last war? The closer allies were to Mordor, the better their soldiery – except northeastern Khand and the former Balchoth Khanates which were thinly represented on the Pelennor. That did not apply to northern Easterlings who are near cousins to Northmen and fight because they always fight. Few men of the west took the time to sort through the different races bleeding their last before the Rammas Wall. Having been there, Nag Kath knew they were not all the same.

Nag Kath put the rest of the winter to use. He had Charlo’s saddle and tack fitted to hide an assortment of Florins and nippers. He would keep money in his clothes too so horse or apparel could be lost. In late March he hiked to the seventh to tell King Aragorn his intentions. If the King wondered at his purpose, he kept it to himself. Aragorn had been to the deep-south as a ranger but not far east. When the changeling bowed and left, his Liege wondered if he had done enough for his servant, given all the Elf had done for free peoples. Nag Kath felt the other way; that the King had given him his freedom, something that could never be repaid.

Mr. Tallazh consulted on more practical matters. He among everyone Nag Kath knew understood the language. For many hours they drank tea of that land and discussed what people did and wore and thought and feared. Tallazh taught him a few words and phrases along with explaining many different ways not to offend them. One never really said what they meant. You asked questions they could avoid. Direct praise should be deflected with self-deprecation. They had a tearful goodbye two years ago so that had all been said.

Goodbyes were said to everyone else in good time. The day before he left in early April he had lunch at a restaurant on the fifth with Tal and Ardatha. They had become great friends with similar outlooks. Neither woman questioned his need to go. They dearly wished he wouldn’t. 

_____________------_____________

Nag Kath made for the Brown Lands, following his own waterway to the original crossroads where he met the Prince and King a decade before. From there he turned due north along the upper Ephel Düath towards Morannon.

Other than scouting water sources along the range, he had not traveled further north than crossing the Entwash on his first trip years ago. The forest was rich and healthy but showed pockets where it still struggled. Trees were yellow or stunted. Nag Kath climbed off Charlo several times to test the water. Most streams ran clean but one gave him the slightest sense of taint. He wrote a note in Sindarin to the aqueduct office and asked the next trader he saw to deliver it. 

He would see the Dead Marshes. No man would willingly walk into this swamp even if it wasn’t filled with corpses. This was sorcery too, sorcery that had not relented even with the destruction of Sauron and the exodus of wizards and Elves. Thousands of orcs and men and Elves were killed or driven here to die early in the Third Age. 

The first casualty he found seemed a Hillman or orc. The next was an Elf lying face up. Nag Kath was not sure how long he stood looking into the blank expression that still conveyed anger and loss. Before he left he sampled the water. His talent was measuring living forces. This was a gray cloud of living death, unable to dissolve and feed more wholesome plants than the rank water weeds choking the banks. He hoped the Elf had found his way to the Halls of Mandos even if the corpse might never decay.

The huge Black Gate loomed to his right but he pressed into Dagorlad. If the marshes were dead water, this was dead land. There were even more bones barely under the surface. Charlo had matured over the time they had been together but he showed some of his old anxiety tramping over this terrible place. Running usually calmed the horse and leaving fast was fine with his master.

Dagorlad gave way to the Brown Lands which seemed lush in comparison. Traveling in a straight line, Nag Kath saw why it was so hard for Gondor to stay in touch with Dorwinion. Trade had to take the long way around this miserable patch. The water was drinkable. Nag Kath let Charlo graze a long time for enough greens to go with his oats.

It seemed to take forever but the Wilderland eventually gave way to a small mountain range to the east coast of the Sea of Rhûn. The peaks were high enough that rain on this side of them drained west and turned north to the Celduin. Streams were clean and broad enough for edible fish. After Lembas and grit in his teeth for two weeks, they tasted sublime. Mountains became hills and within another day he was in the wine country.

Nag Kath drew a few pictures after breakfast. Dorwinion grew many crops so vineyards were interspersed with wheat, barley, vegetables and the gureeq grain that needed less water. They took a leisurely pace due east along the Brilthen creek to the town of Minas Falath. This was the main Gondoran outpost until last year when people realized they were more likely to be invaded by Easterlings than grapes. Even with the command moved to Riavod, Nag Kath was instantly recognized by soldiers who arrived just in time to back the line at the ford. They insisted on toasting their victory!

Who could refuse? Nag Kath stayed a week enjoying the hospitality and swimming further than anyone on shore was comfortable watching. He was here for information and this was the last stretch of the trip where people had been on his side. The next thirty miles north sported coastal homes for successful farmers and merchants. Their holdings were beautiful too, but isolated, so they gathered here between harvest and planting to rub elbows with their own kind. 

___________-------___________

After the long rest, Elf and horse made their way up the coast on a good road and reached Riavod three days later. This town had not fared as well. Bodies in the Celduin had fouled the river-mouth and sickened many townsmen. The large sturn-fish eventually cleaned the bones. Sturn were normally prized delicacies but no one who could afford different would eat them until this spring. Whisker-fish ate whatever was on the bottom of the lake too.

Nag Kath found the Marshal’s office and tied Charlo outside. Lieutenant Fendülas was now a full Captain and just returning from lunch with the mayor when the Elf arrived. The three shook hands as brothers-in-war. New toasts were arranged. He would rather have kept riding but these people risked and saved their lives with their courage. They deserved to remember and be remembered.

Nag Kath’s main reason for coming was to talk with Vegad Druhamel. It stood to reason that the young man would reap the benefits of choosing the right side, plus his nipper’s worth of capital. Vegad was much up in the world and it took the Elf most of the day to find his new home. A girl of about thirteen opened the door when he knocked. Hillilea was the official greeter since their home was also where Vegad assisted traders on the blossoming route to the Kingdom of Rhûn. The changeling had not met her before and leaned down to say, “I am Nag Kath and I would like a word with your esteemed brother.”

In a pleasing east/west accent she told him, “Please come in, best sir. I will inquire if he is available.” She did not recognize his name and forgot it when she told her brother a guest had arrived. Vegad told her he was busy and she asked if the sir could come back tomorrow. Nag Kath leaned over again and asked her to remind the businessman of burning sand. She had been back in the office only a moment when he heard the ‘screeep’ of chair legs across the wooden floor followed by hurrying feet. Vegad rounded the hall and bowed. The Elf returned the bow and the two men shook hands in the western style.

“You have returned to your glory, Kath of the Kelduash!”

How long would that linger? “Thank you Vegad. It seems you are doing well.”

“Yes, thank you. Dorwinens trust me to represent their cases fairly to those bringing or buying goods from the east. Other agents do not enjoy the same references. Please, come, sit. A one-eyed woman brought a tray of tea that also seemed a blend of near and far. Vegad thanked her so either he was becoming more western or the woman was more than a servant.

Vegad leaned back in his chair and asked, “Are you visiting your family in the Buhrs?”

“No, they moved to Minas Tirith.” Less conversationally, “I purpose to revisit his Excellency.”

That was not the horror it was the first time but it was still curious since Nag Kath was not trading grain or sheep. Vegad was a sharp young man and should suspect that this was diplomatic, or something deeper. “The road is improved. Returning soldiers of the Usurper volunteered to help smooth it for travelers.”

“Is the ford easier?”

“There is no need. Take the ferry. Is his Excellency expecting you?”

Vegad had no position with the government of the Easterlings. They had their own people, none of whom were dock-rats from Riavod. His bread was buttered by Dorwinen and Dalish traders. Nag Kath chuckled, “It will be a surprise. I usually am.”

Vegad agreed. The sorcerer was full of surprises. Nag Kath continued, “After paying my respects, I plan to visit Kelepar and then Mistrand before turning east.”

That was a surprise. “You will need to ask your host for leave. Between Kugavod and Kelepar lies the best land in Rhûn. The horses you shared with your peoples were raised there. Unless sanctioned, and probably escorted, you will not be allowed. Forgive me my friend, why Mistrand? It is a sizeable town as they go in the Bror’s lands but no great place. Kelepar is at the south end of desirable.”

The Elf said in his long-story voice, “You told me that your family had no love of the Visitors. Others feel the same. I would like to find if they are in league with those who once made them supreme or simply clinging to memories. Mistrand may inform.”

Vegad grinned an eastern grin and said, “You are strange, but you are strong, so I will tell you. My father owned a vegetable stall in Rhûbar, just this side of the capital. Visitors threatened merchants and farmers with violence if they did not acknowledge their primacy. Father paid the squeeze but a neighbor reported my family for burning candles on Gelansor. Two days later, Visitors caned him. For years after, his back would crack and bleed from the scars. The Visitors were scourged by the old Bror for worse than that, but then there was drought so we moved here to sell vegetables until father died.”

Nag Kath knew he was right to come here. “Tell me of the Visitors.”

Vegad held his chin, the mark of a wise man, before saying, “The ones in the streets are rogue militias, coarse and unlettered. Some believe in coming darkness. Some do it for the food. They are humorless men in either event.

“Since those are the only ones I know, I must tell you what I have been told. Visitors believe that their suffering in the wastes gives them the purity to demand service from those of us who work for our supper. Against their lofty claims, at no time have the sands of east Mordor truly mattered. Visitors yearn for the best of those days, such as they were. Elsewhere, folk who have gotten used to eating every day quickly forget the dignity of hardship.”

The Elf got to the heart, “Who are their leaders?”

“I cannot say. They do not show themselves. Bror’s and wars come and go but they survive.”

It was time for a question he thought he knew but needed scope, “Vegad, do you know if there are those organized against the Visitors?”

“Calling them organized would be charitable, but those who follow the ways of Gelansor, like my parents did, do not support the Visitors’ views. That comes in summer. Watch for lights at night.”

The young girl politely interrupted. She did not know that the tall white man was the father of their bounty and her job was to make guests welcome. Another had just arrived. Nag Kath had just one last question, “How might I recognize one, either to be safe or for more information?”

I am not sure, but it is said they disdain the flesh of fish that swim on the sea bottom, the ones with faces like cats. Visitors claim those creatures eat foul things and so, are themselves, foul. I do not care for them either.” 

_____________------_____________

After three days as the toast of Riavod, Nag Kath booked passage across the harbor on a flat-bottomed sail galley that could travel both directions. Now that there was some trade between the empires, Nag Kath did not get the astonished stares he did before the battle. People still gawked but with his hair covering his ears, folk had finally stopped wondering if he was an Elf because everyone knew the Elves had left.

There was only one road and the returning prisoners had not repaired it. It was safer to run Charlo alongside rather than in the dried wagon ruts. They still made good time riding southeast along the coast to skirt a range of steep hills almost reaching the sea. They got as far as the tip jutting into the water when night closed-in. More of the same got them to Kugavod four days later. 

Along the way, local militias stared but largely kept to themselves. Within a day of the capital, the mounted troops were the Bror’s best. Easterling soldiers wore much the same clothing as the rest of the people. Very few soldiers, even in Gondor, had uniforms like palace guards. Garments were often newer, but only the badges or armor gave them away. 

Three hours from Kugavod, he was stopped and questioned by twelve riders who looked a bit bored. And like bored, ill-tempered soldiers everywhere, they pretended not to understand his common-speech. Nag Kath had none of their language but was tolerant letting the sergeant try to be intimidating. Questions from these men would have scared locals witless. When he had had enough, Nag Kath quipped, “I am riding to speak with Bror Dulgov. Perhaps you can give me your name, esteemed sergeant, so I can tell him why he had to wait.”

That squeezed the Sarge’s tenders. If the blonde pretty-boy was bluffing, the soldier could be ridiculed high and low for his deference. If he wasn’t, the Bror was not known for forgiveness. The sergeant had been given an assignment in the other direction so he detached two troopers to escort the pale one back to the palace with orders to see what happened.

The two men spoke no Westron at all so they all galloped wordlessly to the closed city gates after fording a fair river. The corporal on the wall was in a bad mood too and he questioned the soldiers about returning alone. It took another five minutes until they convinced the gate guards they had been ordered to deliver the strange one and to open the dougsh door. Once in, they rode to the smaller gate of the royal compound. 

It seemed to Nag Kath that citizens of Rhûn did not assume responsibility. You knew your place, commanding those beneath you with impunity and toadying to those above. At the smaller gate, a functionary in robes was finally found and brought to assess the uninvited petitioner for his Excellency. This one did speak tolerable Westron and said he would inform the chamberlain shortly. 

Duty done, the two troopers reported to their barracks since the company they left would be a day’s ride away. No one was responsible for the Elf so when the functionary did not return in two hours, he led Charlo towards what looked like the market area of town hoping to find an inn. 

His luck was in. Civilians spoke more of the common-tongue than soldiers who were largely from the hill-country behind the capital. There was an inn that catered to merchants. It was not clean but not infested either and was probably as nice a place as he would find. After paying for his room and hay for Charlo, he had the innkeeper send a runner to the palace door notifying the chamberlain where he was. It was past dinner time but market stalls sold spiced lentils wrapped in cholla flatbread that weren’t half bad.

Nag Kath nibbled Lembas for breakfast and waited for his summons. By eleven, he guessed because there were no bells, he wandered up to the roof of the two-story building and surveyed the city. Gazing east along the river, plains and forests looked quite fertile. Vegad said this was the best land in the area. Hills climbed gradually producing enough drainage to feed crops. In a land of brown, the Agasha Dag fed the nation and produced its gentry. By noon he decided to take a stroll through the business district of the capital. His innkeeper assigned the youngest of several sons to stay with him. The lad looked no more than ten but in this place, youth was not wasted on children.

The Elf figured the city might hold five thousand souls, perhaps eight hundred of those were soldiers. What had happened to the population of Middle-earth? Lore spoke of great hosts in battles from here to Linden. What did they eat? There might be more warriors staring up in the Dead Marshes than living between here and there. 

The capital was a mix of people but on balance, they looked more southern than Northman. Most men did not have the bushy beards of colder climes. Their skin was tan, perhaps with a hint of olive. That certainly favored the women here with the added appeal of not being wrapped from head-to-toe in coarse woolens like simple folk of the west. They stared. He smiled. 

The high-street ran from west to east and was intersected with lanes wide enough to run a cart through comfortably. There were balconies on the second-stories with lines to dry clothes. Most residential doors were open trying to circulate air. It was not hot yet but it would be in a month.

The lad was not there as a guide. Nag Kath wasn’t sure what he was doing since if the palace called, they would both be out and about. Maybe if he turned down the wrong street the boy would tell him. There was also the issue of the Bror. He might not even be in the city. Everyone involved in getting the changeling here and announcing him had done their job but it wouldn’t be anyone’s responsibility to tell him if His Excellency was three hundred miles away. No matter. He would loiter around the place for a few days and then slip south. 

When in doubt; bribe. The Elf was not hungry but when he saw a stall selling treats made from sweet beets, he walked over and bought a small sack. A bench near a fountain was the perfect place to sit. Nag Kath slowly unwrapped one of the morsels and tantalizingly put the snack on his tongue, savoring it in ecstasy. The second took even longer. His little shadow was nearly drooling when Nag Kath gestured for him to sit on the bench and gave him one of the pink-colored treats.

“Do you speak the common-tongue?”

“Small amount, yes, best of possible sirs.”

“Good lad. Which do you like, the pink or the tan ones?” The little boy shrugged with a smile. These were decisions he had never made. Nag Kath gave him a tan treat. “Now, I like fish. Do you know what fish are?”

“Yes. They swim and are eat.”

The Elf nodded in approval, “Very good. I like the big red fish. Do you know which ones those are?” The boy shook his head. Nat Kath started to unwrap another of the sweets and made a fuss of not being able to extract it from the fali leaf. That took nearly a minute. He dropped it in his mouth and gave the boy a pink treat. Pulling his pad from the satchel he drew one of the red fish that swam together near the surface. Then he drew a whisker-fish. He showed the two pictures to the boy and said he like the first one but not the second. Did the young man know places where the cat-faced fish were not served?

He would get nothing from the youngster, who had probably never eaten a meal not made in his mother’s kitchen. It was worth a try. He gave the kid another treat and made his way further east. There was a small, ruin much the same shape as where he had been kept waiting for the Bror on his first trip. Just for something to do, they made their way there and began walking around it. One end had collapsed many years before. Stepping over the rocks they entered the very courtyard he had been detained. There were four sheds equally spaced around the oval perimeter, long disused with no doors. Wild cucumbers and squash crept along the ground near the drainage ditch. There were no flowers. There had never been flowers.

He had been played like a greenbottom! By someone on his side! Humility came easily to the fledling sorcerer but, without false modesty, he was the most powerful creature of his kind still abroad in the wider world. He had imagined encircling walls and plants and the sounds of guards just outside. No wonder his flower pictures were dougsh! And there was no telling what was in that tea.

Why him? Why here? Nag Kath had used his power confusing the two soldiers in Riavod. Perhaps enough residual was left to mark him for someone who could tell. The serious question was really; who, or what, was Orlo? The Elf already intended to follow clues deep into Sauron’s old stomping-grounds. This was just one more. 

None of this was apparent to the little boy fixed on the shrinking sack of sweets. Nag Kath tossed him another as he gazed in wonder at what was probably a horse-training paddock for long dead Brors. The remains of the wall above the break was almost like a flight of stairs. The Elf carefully climbed to the top of the wall and looked around. This was the only structure of its type. A year ago this seemed to be much closer to the palace walls. It obviously wasn’t. Anyone from town could walk in here either through the door-less gate or the collapsed east side. In one last confirmation of being fooled, Nag Kath went to Orlo's hut. It was empty but for large hungry spiders. 

Nag Kath started through a hole in the wall at a meandering path towards the city when the boy said, “No, best sir. We go to there.” He pointed the way they had come. It earned him the last treat.

_____________------_____________

There was still no word from the palace. It could wait. The Elf thought he might slip out in the night after decent folk were tucked away. Approaching the dinner hour, two soldiers in livery came to the inn and asked for him. Nag Kath left everything where it was under a heavy confusion spell and bowed to the palace men. One said in tolerable Westron, “His Excellency to see you now.”

He was led down the same series of corridors except at the end when the guards brought him to a large room adjacent to a smaller room divided by iron bars. Bror Dulgov stood ten feet to his side of the bars in the other room and accepted a deep bow from the Elf. 

The rightful ruler of the land would not be within striking distance of this creature. Men of the west knew that Nag Kath had slain Easterling mercenaries trespassing in the Buhrs. The Easterlings themselves knew how he did it. In their absolute and remorseless world, Khalki, Lord who punishes the impure, was a savage wind who destroyed the unrighteous in fire and blood. One of the troopers from Dale told him what these men feared. And that’s what they got. 

The Dwarf-road slaughter would have reached the young Bror’s ears. Dulgov was then and now the enemy of that rogue element. But that didn’t mean the baby-faced boy behind the barrier would discriminate. The Rhûn said, “Welcome back, Nag Kath. Your coming was unannounced.”

“Your pardon, Excellency. This is nothing so dire as my last visit. I hope I have not inconvenienced you.”

“Thank you for you kindness to my son. He could have left Dale with seven wives.”

Nag Kath was gracious, “You are welcome. He is a fine young man and represented your Excellency with distinction.”

“I am glad to hear your visit is not perilous. What can I do for you?”

The Elf thought the Bror might be willing to dispense with the usual flowery preambles. “It pertains to the conversation I had with Prince Voranush. With your permission, I was hoping to turn south and thence towards Khand in search of our common enemies, Lord Bror.”

That was a cleft stick for the man and both knew it. It would mean giving the creature a look at the breadbasket of the empire. But this one had talents that might root-out the Visitors, Visitors who for countless generations had made life miserable for the rightful rulers of Rhûn! His grandfather, Tespish, continued the alliance with Sauron and accepted orcs and spies in the bargain. Even then, the Visitors had schemed for the dark lord and their own purposes. His father Telantish had enjoyed personally flaying Visitors in salt when the survivors straggled back from Erebor, leaving Tespish’s and his brother Boramn’s heads moldering on pikes outside the gates. 

He would allow the quest, but he had conditions, “I will arrange an escort of honor to accompany you as far as Kelepar. Is tomorrow convenient?”

“I am grateful, Your Excellency. I may be some time, but I will either return to tell you of my inquiries or send a letter. May I ask if there is a symbol or token of your exalted position that I may use so that the message will reach you?”

The Bror commanded, “Approach.”

As Nag Kath was walking to the grate, a robed man nodded twice and scurried off towards a large table in front of the only window in the room. Returning, he placed something small in the Bror’s large hand.

The man considered it and said gravely, “This is a signet of my emissary. A letter sealed in wax and delivered to any soldier in my realm will find its way to me. I warn you though; you use this at my sufferance. Misuse has consequences.” The Bror handed the ring back to the robed man who reached between the bars to give it to Nag Kath.

The Elf said, “Thank you, Excellency. It will only be used at the end of need.”

Dulgov considered that, “A small thing. You helped me remove a thorn in my toe.” The Lord of Rhûn turned and walked into shadow.


	22. Bounty of the Rhûn

**_Chapter 22_ **

**_Bounty of the Rhûn_ **

Since the Bror blessed his trip, Nag Kath decided against investigating who wasn’t eating whisker-fish that night. The next morning he wolfed a quick breakfast and rode Charlo to the palace entrance where four riders were waiting. He nodded to the one who looked most senior. The man barked something in their tongue and they climbed in the saddle. 

They were on the shaggy horses of the Agasha Dag. The beasts were bigger than ponies but not the size of western heavy cavalry. The riders themselves were on the lean side and lightly armored with lances. Helmets with local symbols covered their dark, braided hair. Two had Easterling short-arc bows over their backs and capped-quivers lashed behind the saddles. All four had short, curved swords. Other than arms they traveled light. Nag Kath assumed they would commandeer anything else they wanted along the way.

No one said a word until they were well past the main gate heading east towards the turn to the southern coast. The Elf thought he had better take the measure of the men. Most likely they were there to keep him from exploring. But it was also possible they might see trouble along the road. If so, he wanted to find out how they would deploy before it happened. Of course, they might be there to feed him to the Stoor fish.

Nag Kath looked over to the leader and said, “Nice horse, Sergeant. He is well trained.” 

The man was trapped. He could refuse to answer anything about their route, himself or Rhûn, but horsemen have to talk about their horses. “He is of Agasha Dag, a noble breed.” The speech was hard to understand through the accent but he did speak some Westron.

“Oh, we’ll be riding by there. I have heard your farms are superb.”

The rider seethed. This silly blonde man had tricked him into revealing their breeding grounds. On the other hand, he had paid his Bror and the horse under him a compliment. A response was required. “Thank you. We are proud of them.”

That was as much as Nag Kath needed to know just now. The other men were trying to see if the arrows in his quiver were the same kind pulled from the Usurper. They weren’t. These were Gondor arrows. The Elvish scabbard got some attention too. They would all know this man had a hand in quashing the invasion. They probably did not know that he was the silver wind thirty years before.

Vegad wasn’t able to supply much information about the terrain east and south of the capital. The road was fair. Only soldiers rode. A party returning to Kugavod stopped to chat in their language with no special deference given to his escort. These four would be some of the Bror’s best, outfitted to seem ordinary. Occasional wagons were pulled by goats or donkeys but almost everyone they saw was on foot.

After a few hours they stopped to water the horses at clear brook running into the sea. The Rhûn itself was slightly salty. You could drink it but it did not satisfy. Nag Kath climbed off his horse to get a drink himself. The men didn’t seem to mind but stayed in their saddles. Had they seen his hand they might have noticed a hint of silver. 

There were no inns. Rough villages along the road were either single homes or larger group dwellings with the occasional blacksmith or barn. The few people out stared at him but never at the soldiers. Shortly after lunchtime, not that they ate, they saw the first organized horse farms. Fields were divided into paddocks and grazing areas based on the age, sex and use of the animals. Further inland he could see them being trained, youngsters individually and older horses in formation. 

Nag Kath glanced but seemed uninterested. Easterlings did not understand that horse training in his lands was no secret at all. What he wanted to know was how Frûnzar stole four hundred of them under the noses of anyone watching and got them to the other side of the sea. He would have had a lot of help, help that was probably staring at the blonde rider right now.

Occasionally the Elf would ask a safe question and get a safe reply from the one man. The others did not speak in his or any other tongue. Nearing dusk they reached an outpost with a corral and low, block building. There was another like-sized party heading north that had already arrived and claimed their bunks. No one relinquished their cots when Nag Kath’s group came and the men conversed as equals. They all stared at the Elf but kept busy starting a fire for an evening meal.

Stew! Always stew! In this case, horse stew. Nag Kath ate some of the carrots in the pot but relied on Lembas for sustenance. With enough time he probably could have pulled in a few fish from the bank. 

The second day was a repeat of the first. A spit of land into the Rhûn had a small fishing village with both row and sailing boats. Nag Kath signaled the escort to hold as he inspected the catch. They all pulled up without comment. The fisherman in the boat was both gratified and frightened. Why would soldiers with a stranger wonder about his catch? It wasn’t a very good day, either. The man and his son beamed in pride as the blonde fellow chose a red jouchar and a bottom-feeder with whiskers. The price for such fine fish, just caught, was but a half-groat, certainly worth more! 

It had been a long time since Nag Kath had carried individual coppers. He handed the man a fiver as his son gutted the catch. There was no possibility the fisherman could make change. Easterlings usually traded for goods. The fisherman was still trying to decide what to do when the blonde man told the son to wrap the two fish in a wet cloth and seemed to ignore getting his four groats back. Was this possible? Did the soldiers see the fiver and plan to return for their cut? The deal was done and the five riders left the dazed fisherman squeezing the coin until his knuckles were white. 

From there they passed more horse farms and more mounted patrols. A party of twelve looked green. Both cavalry and mounts learned at the same speed. Their boots might have been worn at the siege of Erebor. Another dozen men approached from the south. This lot was more experienced. Their leader had the swagger of an officer and demanded to know their business. His Sergeant must have calmly told the Lieutenant who he worked for. Rank still mattered but this officer was out here in the hinterland. The capital Sergeant had the power, and they both knew it.

The half-troop made another way-station before dark. Like the other, troopers were already here. There were no cots at this one. You laid your bedroll inside. Now for the experiment; one of the troopers from another unit was starting a fire for horse stew. Nag Kath wandered over and handed him the two fish. The fellow unrolled the cloth and looked at them. Smiling up at the tall stranger with surprisingly good teeth, he quickly skinned them for the pot. 

Two men, both from troops heading north, either weren’t hungry or picked at their dinner the way Nag Kath usually did. They weren’t pleased either and stole glances at each other or the blonde man (a prisoner?) on the sly. Everyone else cleaned their bowls and later played a dice game that seemed to have no rules. No one approached him after lights-out.

With luck, day three would take them to Kelepar. This was the best grain-land on the trip. Nearing the city, there were more pastures with mares nursing foals. One of his trooper’s stallions was romantic but Charlo did not react. 

The Bror was as good as his word. Nag Kath never got the sense his escort meant him harm. Making the city meant fording the fair-sized Fela Dotomok River. There was a ferry-boat for people and goods but it could not handle horses. The men knew right where to cross for the best footing and only had to swim about eighty feet. It was a warm day and they would be dry soon. The Sergeant told Nag Kath that he was now on his own and bowed a soldier’s bow before whistling-up his men for an evening of more horse-stew.

___________-------___________

The Elf looked around and thought this was a nice little place. There wasn’t much to do but he had better get used to that. The inn was a single-story affair that had a crowd of merchants on the porch. Nag Kath walked Charlo to the post. Everyone stared but they didn’t scowl. He nodded with a smile and hoped someone inside spoke the common-speech. Nag Kath couldn’t have been the first man not from here because the woman at what he took to be the desk smiled and said, “Good afternoon, best of sirs. What can our humble inn offer such a distinguished gentleman?”

He said slowly, “Thank you. I would like lodging and stabling for a night, perhaps longer.”

“Excellent. I have a room towards the back, very quiet.”

Nag Kath decided if it was full of bugs he would rent it anyway and rest on his bedroll. The room was actually nice. Again, not scrupulously clean, but un-infested with an oiled-paper window that let in light. As in Kugavod, a full complement of sons saw to Charlo after Nag Kath got his bags. They had never seen a horse that had already shed his winter coat this early, and so tall!

After placing a strong confusion ward on his bags, he walked back out to the small main room and for the first time saw that wine, not ale, was the drink of choice. This wasn’t Dorwinion, but vines on this side of the sea produced as good a wine as most places other than Dorwinion. The Elf thought they could sell this if they could get it to market. It made him think of Orlo the boatwright. The right winds could push the right vessel across this little sea. 

One of the attractions of Kelepar was large trout, nearly as big as on the Dusenorn, that lived and died on the Agasha and its tributaries. The flesh was bright pink. He found a tavern that baked them with gureeq loaves and roots like a potato but sweeter. With such fare, there were no whisker-fish offered. And it was cheap. The room was two groats including dinner. They could make change.

Nag Kath was in no hurry. In the morning he wandered around the city which might have two thousand people and counting. It was not walled so the population spilled onto the main road and followed the south bank of the river. There was a road on the north bank too but they had to ford because there were only the beginnings of a settlement when it reached the mouth. The Elf mused that Gondorans would have built a bridge by now. Here, it was someone else’s problem.

The market was bustling. Men and women both carried large bales on their backs with another band around their forehead for balance. Well before harvest, most goods were cloth or leatherworks. There were horses too. Farms on this side of the river sold to the military but they were not run by the military. People always stopped to look at the out-of-place stranger but quickly returned to haggling. Nearer the sea were fish mongers waiting for the afternoon catch. They still had a few from yesterday lifelessly staring at those who didn’t mind a little extra flavor to save money. 

A bit further downriver Nag Kath reached a place where boats were being built or repaired. Lumber from a pit saw upstream was floated down to be shaped or bent into twelve-foot fishing boats that could either be sailed or rowed. It was much like the shipyard on the Anduin mouth. Workmen carefully laminated thinner boards around a curved form and then pegged them with wooden dowels. For some reason, Nag Kath always worried about them springing back like a wheel rim but they used a wood that would retain its new shape when boiled. 

He spent several hours sitting near the docks and sketching the craft. That drew an assortment of interested folk, mostly children, who giggled and chatted in their own tongue. As usual, he drew sketches of them to awe! One shoeless little girl was sure her picture was worth gold and ran home before anyone could take it away. 

Nag Kath spent several days wandering and drawing. Adults were suspicious but no one followed him, and he made a point of being obvious. No one seemed dazed near his room either. The only trouble came as he was saddling to leave. Another troop of soldiers, coming from the south, wanted to know his business here.

The Elf respectfully said he was on his way to Mistrand which did not serve the squad leader’s purpose of finding if the blonde man should be questioned or detained. He could have produced the Bror’s signet ring whenever he wanted but being invited to the local headquarters was probably a better way to learn than drawing sailboats. Through hand-signs the westerling was to come with him and they all rode back a block from his inn to a squat, brown building with troopers loitering on the porch.

The man’s soldiers waited while he took the Elf inside to the duty officer. They spoke in their tongue and occasional looks at the placid stranger and then the desk man said, “Why are you doing in Kelepar?”

“I am traveling to Mistrand, officer. Is there trouble on the route?”

The man’s eyebrows furrowed deciphering that and he said, “These are not your lands.”

Pretending not to understand he said, “Yes, I am leaving here to go to Mistrand.”

“Mistrand, Kelepar, they are not your lands.”

“Then I should be on my way.”

The man stood to not an imposing height and shouted something in their tongue. Soldiers appeared on either side of the Elf. “You will answer to the Furjar!” The four of them walked down the hall to what they were surprised to find was an empty office. Easterlings don’t generally have offices so this must be the high fellow of Kelepar, a Khan, perhaps? The desk man would not be put-off. He said gruffly, “You wait here!” and stamped out of the room to enquire about the boss. Nag Kath and the two guards stood there for almost half a bell until the desk man returned with a well-dressed civilian who sat down at his own desk and apprised the tall detainee before saying, “I was told you are here without leave.”

While they were waiting, Nag Kath slipped the ring on his little finger, the only one it would fit. He put his knuckles on the desk and said softly, “I am sure there is some mistake.”

The man was about to utter something officious when he saw the ring. He turned to the desk officer and said in their language what could only be; ‘I’ll take it from here.’ The desk man waved the guards out self-importantly leaving only Nag Kath and the Furgar who sat patiently. Whoever this strange man was, he had an emissary ring.

Nag Kath said, “Thank you, good sir. I was just leaving for Mistrand. I hope this has not inconvenienced you.”

“Not at all. I am sorry for the misunderstanding.”

The Elf could be magnanimous, “They were just doing their duty.”

The official asked, “May I be of assistance?”

Nag Kath was of two minds and decided not to discuss his search. Vegad said there was no telling where high Visitors hid. And even though this man represented his Excellency, patriotic Easterlings would have been proud if the Usurper had created a new dynasty in the hated Gondoran province across the sea. The Elf bowed graciously and said, “No thank you, good sir. I am just passing through.”

_____________------_____________

A light day’s ride hugging the coast took Nag Kath to the fishing village of Rhunea. Most of the rivers flowing into the inland sea had sizeable bays. This town was the last point on open water before the road followed the long inlet to the Súrûbeki River. The terrain below the Agasha was getting dryer. Farms here used a clever system of ditches coming from streams in the foothills to the east as tributaries grew fewer. As usual, people stared but no one bothered him. Troops were less plentiful too. 

There was one tavern with a fish stew. He slept outside. From there it took another four days of comfortable riding to reach the regional capital of Mistrand. The land became increasingly tan. There were no horse farms and the only row crops were gureeq grain or hardy strains of peas and lentils. The people who lived here were all within half a mile of the sea on on tributaries.

Orlo described the Súrûbeki River as; ‘an unlovely brown ditch’. It wasn’t that bad as that but it was not the crisp, refreshing water of the north. Near town it flowed through a flood plain that was also equipped with ditches to water fields and short, stunted trees bearing olives or nuts. The city had the remnants of a wall that must have fallen well before the last age. From a distance, Nag Kath put it at two thousand souls including both sides of the river. Most of that was on the western bank so they forded a mile upstream at obvious shallows with only one deep channel to swim.

In his entire experience, from hamlets to cities, there was a certain industry of northern men that revolved around cold, fallow winters. Here there was warm and hot. Crops still had their seasons, but there wasn’t a time when people bundled in every rag they owned sitting around their stove. Most ovens were outside so the home wouldn’t be unbearable while cooking.

Nag Kath walked Charlo along the entire length of the coastline and then back up the river after learning it was the most prosperous part of town. There were three inns. He started with the one that had horse posts in front. The innkeeper reminded him of Tanlath in Edoras with thin, oiled hair carefully placed across a pink scalp. He was short and round with a bushy moustache and shaved the rest intermittently. The Elf would find that most men here went to barbers for that service rather than doing it themselves. 

Mistrand must see occasional travelers from common-tongued lands because the man said understandably, “Welcome to the Kellesh Thand! How can we assist such a lordly sir?”

“Thank you. I seek accommodation for myself and my horse. I expect to be here a week, perhaps more.”

“Then you have come to the very place! My family has our own stable for horses where we feed to them true grass hay! Does sir have other requirements?”

“No, just a clean room, on the north side if you have one.” That would get the least afternoon sun.

The man rubbed his hands, “I may just have one available. Please follow me.”

It took him about twice as many steps as Nag Kath but down a hall were four rooms with stout doors. The innkeeper pushed the second one inwards and gestured for the guest to inspect. It was clean with a bed that was almost long enough and a lattice window of oiled paper that could be opened from the inside. It would serve.

After seeing the blonde guest had no questions or objections, the little man said, “I am embarrassed to say the room and boarding for your animal will be three Gondor groats per night but am pleased to say that for a week it is only eighteen.” That was probably double what someone who knew this road paid but Nag Kath was not one to quibble for real grass hay. He counted out coppers rather than show silver and followed the innkeeper to the front.

Somewhat unusually, the runner/helper at the Kellesh Thand was a lass of about fifteen. Fortunate in many things, Mr. Cuaranger’s wife had borne him four baby girls and they did what lads did at most places. This girl must take after her mother because she was already taller than her beaming da. She took Charlo to the stall while a girl about two years younger dragged his satchel.

Another thing that was different than most of northern Middle-earth was that guests registered and their presence was reported to the city authorities. Taxes were partially based on business and it also kept the guardi appraised of strangers in case anything went missing during their stay. There was a book of the cheapest paper to state one’s name and home. Most were filled-in by a single hand, probably the innkeeper’s, for guests who were unlettered. Nag Solvanth wrote he was from Isengard.

Mr. Cuaranger, adapted from Churangdir, also owned the restaurant next door where honored patrons had their choice of fish or pork tonight! His brother was the cook. Dinner was only an hour away, judging by the sun, so Nag Kath took a stroll and returned to join the first seating. He had his choice of fish too. One was the red school-fish and the other was a bottom-fish at half the price. There were trout in the Súrûbeki but fish in the bay were easier to catch.

It was still good and he was learning to appreciate the rough-grain loaves served in most of Rhûn. The restaurant was not a pub and closed when the food ran out so Nag Kath walked back into town and explored in plain sight. There were no bells. He figured it would be light until the niner in Minas Tirith. 

Men did not seem to drink much here. There were wine bars, some served ale too, but many folk had their limit early and then switched to tea with pipes of the local leaf. Places where drinks were served later generally had gambling of some sort like the dice game the troopers played with a variety of side bets. Every so often, the keeper of the pit would roll the different-colored dice eight times to show folk that they had not been weighted to favor one symbol. Nag Kath had never won playing Dukks for toothpicks so he stayed away from games of chance.

_____________------_____________

The next day he strolled to the boat-works after gureeq porridge. Logs of harder trees from this river and softer timbers barged from Kelepar kept dozens of half-naked men and lads shouting and dashing about. Some sang in unison even though they worked on different boats.

Nag Kath came because of the empty compound in Kugavod. Orlo said he worked here. There must have been powerful sorcery to trick him into seeing walls and gardens that were never there. Nag Kath had also discovered what bothered him about his sketches. One time he remembered Orlo grasping a porch roof support to help him rise. Another time he pushed off the boards. He had drawn them both ways without noticing the discrepancy. That was what he saw at the time. The abandoned shack had no porch at all. 

The Elf sat on a rock and started sketching men attaching a mast on a fifteen-foot boat. It took a few of them to place it in the slot and step it to the right pitch. It was a good picture. He was also there to draw attention. Sooner or later, someone would come by and start a conversation. It was later, but finally a man who seemed a supervisor of some sort walked towards town and wasn’t too bashful to look over Nag Kath’s shoulder. The artist asked him, “What kind of boat is that?”

The man held up a finger and shouted to a fellow on deck in their own tongue. The nut-brown man spoke to a lad for a moment and then strode towards the Elf and supervisor. The two men spoke again and the new fellow said cheerfully, “Yes, I am speak you.” The first man continued towards town.

To make it easy, Nag Kath changed his question to, “Are these boats to catch fish.” Then he pantomimed a swimming red jouchar.”

“Yes. Jouchar, hakûn, Stoor, yes.”

The Elf did a little fishing of his own, “Did Orlo make boats?”

The Boatwright grinned again and said, “Orlo much here, yes, for all.” One of the laborers at the dock whistled and the man nodded before walking back to his mast. 

There seemed to be five different crews making or maintaining boats. The next day he found another rock at the other end of the yard and started drawing. At lunch time, a stout woman and two youngsters brought a basket that got the immediate attention of three men and two lads working on the largest vessel. The woman was not happy that her rock had been appropriated by this pale, lanky stranger and started to protest when one of the children saw the picture of their da pegging and called everyone to see.

They gathered round as the men sat for lunch and in their tongue decided this was a fine thing indeed. A man who might well be the father of the other two was last to arrive. Nag Kath smiled and asked, “The hull is near done, yes?”

The older fellow looked back the boat and replied, “We must chink the seams first.”

“Ahhh, I know little about making boats.”

The man accepted something wrapped in flatbread from the frowning woman and took a bite before saying, “We always learn something new. Water wants to find its way in. It is patient.”

The two younger men chatted with the lads and children leaving the woman waiting with her basket until the foreigner relinquished her picnic rock. The older man talked with Nag Kath in tolerable Westron. When the food was almost gone Nag Kath tried again, “Did Orlo make boats.”

“Orlo does all things.”

The Elf thought he had better be more direct, “I am seeking Orlo.”

“All men of good heart seek Orlo.”

“I am sorry. I thought he was a man.”

The builder chuckled before saying, “Someone’s parents thought highly of their babe. Or a man thinks highly of himself. Orlo is the spirit of ‘right living’, one of the Tschurans of Those Named.”

This was not where the Elf thought the conversation would go but he really shouldn’t have expectations given how he had been fooled the first time. As if embarrassed for butchering their language he said sheepishly, “I must have misunderstood. He was a short fellow, about so high, with no hair. He said he was from here but that might have been some time ago.”

It was time to work. The man smiled thinly and wished him well. Nag Kath gave the children the sketch of their menfolk, tipped his brow to the woman who was still scowling and meandered towards the city offices. If the guardi had questions, they knew where to find him. There were no door guards since there was nothing to steal. Stealing in Mistrand mostly happened inside this building.

He walked in the door and asked the first man he saw if anyone spoke his language. That took a conference of everyone in the room but a man next door was produced and walked over. The Elf told him, “I am visiting and wanted to pay my respects to the Khan.”

“No Khan now. He dead three years.”

“I am sorry to hear that. Who sees to your proud home now?”

“Fuhrvad is Deloth now.”

Nag Kath used his most ingratiating smile, “I can pay my respects to the Deloth.”

The man shook his head and said, “He go to Dilgul. Two week, sorry, two weeks to come back.”

The Elf thanked the man for his courtesy and took the long way back to the inn. There was an unclaimed chair on the porch so he put his hat on his knee and retrieved his notebook from the satchel. The rune descriptions from Scholar Vientis were folded inside. One of the symbols not carved in the Visitor’s stone was Chôlar; being of balance and choice. Was that what the old man meant? Ulorö was another name Vientis unearthed. Orlo in an eastern tongue? The boat-wright wasn’t there to convert stray Elves from Gondor. Someone knew Nag Kath was more than he seemed. 

Tonight’s stew was mutton. Nag Kath walked half a block down and found another restaurant with men, only ever men, smoking and eating fish. He took a table and ordered. This place sold whisker-fish. That was not his favorite any more than Rosscranith’s, but anything was better than sheep.

He was followed back to the inn. The man either wasn’t very good or the real shadow was already ahead knowing his route. Nag Kath did not have his sword. Only soldiers carried them. Turning a corner he slipped into “The Fast” and crossed the street into darkness. Moments later, a man dressed in everyday clothes stopped on the corner and realized his quarry was gone. Not seeming very concerned, he walked back the way he came. The tail became the tailed.

The fellow went to a tavern that had wine and dice. There would be no blending-in, he being the only six and a half foot Elf in Mistrand that season. Nag Kath stood in another dark place among the many and watched the door. His follower emerged an hour later not appearing any the worse for wine and turned towards a residential district four blocks from the river. A door opened as he walked on the porch. The home was modest but cheerful and had a small flower garden, many of them blossoms that only open at night. 

It was reasonable to think the man would try to regain the scent at Nag Kath’s inn the next morning. Nag Kath would meet him on the way. The shortcut was an alley between two small buildings. 

“Huhhh?!” A white hand pulled the man by the collar into shadow.

The Elf asked, “Can I help you with something?”

“Do not squeeze. I am no enemy.” Nag Kath put him down but said nothing. The fellow caught his breath and said, “You seek Orlo?”

“I do.”

“Have fish again tonight at Harlubra. Leave by turning right and walk slowly.”

“Harlubra?”

“Upriver from your inn.”

They left in different directions.

_____________------_____________

Harlubra was more a grocery than restaurant. Nag Kath went in at what he thought was the local dinnertime and ordered the only thing they served. The other diners looked at him before resuming their conversations. The fish was probably tasty but he wasn’t there for the meal. After a decent interval, he handed the server two groats and stretched before making the door and casually turning east. Shops here did not have windows so there was no pretending to examine merchandise. Most vendors worked from their porches into the street except during rare rainstorms. Shops were where they stored their goods and lived. 

It was still light. A small girl had gotten too far ahead of her parents and the woman rushed forward to collect her before she ran into the tall westerling coming the other way. The mother held her in her arms and said barely loud enough to be heard, “We must be careful, dearest. Not all can come where we go.”

Her husband caught up a few moments later and they continued the way Nag Kath had come. The Elf kept going and looped around the block behind the couple. The woman and child went into a home and the man kept walking towards the market, to every eye ready for an evening of wine and pipe-weed. He entered a building and walked out the back to meet the waiting Nag Kath. Wordlessly they criss-crossed a few blocks and entered an unlit home. 

Inside there were oil lamps unable to penetrate reed coverings over the oiled-paper windows. There were two other men sitting at the other end of the room. After the door shut, one said, “So, you seek Orlo?”

“Orlo seems to be many things.”

The same man; “Your seeking is far from your home.”

“And has been life-long.”

The voice, he couldn’t tell whose, asked, “This Orlo of many things, what part brought you here?”

“I am prepared to tell you much. May I sit?” The figure nodded from inside his hooded robe. Nag Kath’s guide showed him a chair and sat in the one beside it. Comfortable, the Elf told of meeting the elderly man in the Bror’s hospitality and some of their conversations. Then he added, “There was strong sorcery, gentle and not malign. My coming here cannot be a complete surprise.”

The man who had not spoken said, “Claiming knowledge of powers is for men who have lost their reason, or who seek to further their own ends.”

“I have met both. If this was an invitation, I am here. If not, I journey south two days hence. I am no danger to those I have met and I will not go anywhere I have already been.”

The first hooded man mulled that for a moment and said, “We will consider your words. This gentleman will see you out.”

Nag Kath and his guide stood and left the house. At the first intersection towards the inn, the man turned and walked into the night.

Nothing happened for two days. The artist sketched the interesting mix of people; some with the black, braided hair of the northern easterlings and an increasing percentage of smaller, darker men who kept both hair and beards fairly short. Part of that was therapy. He drew the sinister Elf from the mirror distorted and his sketches from the compound were poor as well. Drawing magic seemed an obvious ‘tell’ from natural surroundings – perhaps a bellwether if he was being influenced. The innkeeper’s smallest girl had a low fever. Nag Kath removed it when no one was looking. There was not much of interest in the market. Women in a wide range of sizes called from balconies offering to slake his every desire. He doubted that.


	23. Rightness of Action

**_Chapter 23_ **

**_Rightness of Action_ **

Two days later, Nag Kath saddled Charlo and trotted south along the river. He was a bell out of town when a rider approached from his right. The man was not visibly armed and did not close at attack speed. Nag Kath left his weapons in plain sight. It was the father, or the man posing as the father, of the little girl. He said with no trace of malice, “Good morning sir. A pleasant day for a ride.”

“I hope so.”

“If you will follow me.” He turned his shaggy horse around and Nag Kath nosed Charlo the same way. The fellow said, “Thank you for your patience. I am Verdracht. Cities are not the right place for new friendships, yes?”

Nag Kath agreed, “I see the wisdom of that, too many ears. I am called Nag Kath.”

“Well, Nag Kath, we have a half-day’s ride ahead of us. I can be charming or quiet, your choice.”

“Let us start with charming.” Verdracht? It seemed a harsh northern name despite the man’s pleasing olive complexion. His Westron was heavily accented but easily understood. What else he or his friends understood about Nag Kath was uncertain. Northern Easterlings knew quite a bit. The changeling had probably gotten more of them killed than any man in thirty years. Down here, the greased palms of the empire had a shorter reach. In their time, they warred more with northern clans than anyone outside their own disputed borders.

There was the issue of sorcery. Whoever had created the illusion in the compound was more powerful than him. Nag Kath had to fight the temptation to impress with childish tricks. What mattered was that he had been invited to a council. How that went depended on whose side they thought he was on. 

Verdracht talked about the land, the crops, the beauty and virtue of the women (presumably excluding those calling from the balconies) and everything else a visitor could want to know about the “Nose of Gathod” reaching into the Rhûn. He was less sanguine about troops, political alliances and Orlo. Nag Kath liked him. Optimism has a way of showing itself on a long, dull ride. Two hours west they reached a ridge of low hills emerging from the grasslands. Dry creeks, and occasionally wet ones, grooved the soil up the grade. There were no other hoof prints.

In the same inoffensive tone as he used describing dicing dens, Verdracht told Nag Kath he could go no further without wearing a hood over his eyes. The Easterling tossed him a tightly woven sack and Nag Kath put it on. They rose for an hour and descended for another, crossing a creek with enough water for the horses to drink. The Elf could tell from sun angles that much of the trip had been in a circle. In the late afternoon they stopped and men came forward. Verdracht called, “You can take the mask off.”

__________------_________

They had reached a village about a quarter of the way down the western side of the ridge. Twelve buildings surrounded a large common hall in the center. There was water from a stream and the hills were noticeably greener than on the way here. Both of them dismounted and led their horses to the second largest building.

Inside, Verdracht nodded to several men on his way to a room with the door wide open. He said, “Wait here.” and stepped inside. Nag Kath stayed about five minutes until his guide looked around the door jam and said, “Come in.”

Three men sat around a table that would hold eight. None were younger than their forties, one, who might be of Khand, older yet. Verdracht showed him to the furthest chair from any of them and shut the door behind him as he left.

All three men were wearing flowing tan robes a bit like Orlo’s with hoods that could be drawn over their heads at need. The man at the center said slowly in heavily accented Westron, “We understand you are interested in right living.”

Nag Kath replied, “I am, sir.”

“And why would a northerner want to learn about quaint southern superstitions?”

“Right living is appropriate for all men.”

The fellow folded his fingers together on the table and continued, “I could not agree more. But we would know the reason for your coming.”

“I am concerned about less quaint superstitions, and I believe you are as well.”

The man to the right said, “Northerners cannot be bothered with pleasantries.” There was no trace of humor in his grim face.

The questioner grimaced and said, “I beg your pardon young man. You have ridden long and we have not even offered you tea. I hope you understand this is irregular.”

The Elf earnestly said, “I do, sir, though, perhaps, an opportunity.”

A plainly dressed woman entered through a back door with a large pot of tea and mugs on a tray. She came to Nag Kath first to give him his choice of mugs and poured for him. Then she took the tray around the table, a custom to show guests the drink was untainted. After she left, all four of them took a sip. Nag Kath did not sense any false sweetness. The Elf supposed these people had not heard anything accurate about him, if anything at all, so he offered the opening exchange, “Sirs, my name is Nag Kath. My purpose is to discover if those who call themselves Visitors have sorceries at their call of if they simply claim it to exhort their servants.”

The man who seemed from Khand was from Khand and spoke for the first time, “That would seem daunting for a single warrior.”

“My work is known. I am advisor to high kings, most recently your own. It is one of many stories.”

The men’s faces showed years of discipline, but attracting the Bror’s attention was never a good idea. The man in the middle said cautiously, “I would hear that story first.”

“Two years ago I rode to him with counsel to destroy his brother’s infantry on the soil of Rhûn rather than let Frûnzar open old wounds across the river. If the Bror wasn’t already despised by the Visitors, he is now. I assisted with his Excellency’s diplomatic overtures in Dale. A month ago I called in the favor by asking his leave to inquire about the Visitors.”

The Khandian still thought this a young man’s self-absorption, “Counselor to kings on subjects of sorcery, you say. Great claims require great proofs.”

It was still not time for cheap tricks. Nag Kath responded, “I am known in Gondor and Dale.” He smiled, “Most accounts are embellished. Riders to either, or even to Riavod, can confirm my claims. I will remain in the safety of your aerie while you judge my veracity.”

That seemed fair. The men knew they did not have to go that far.

Verdracht took Nag Kath to one of the smaller buildings and said he would collect him shortly for dinner. His room was not a cell but it was spare. He had stayed in worse. Nothing had been confiscated so he hung his bow and scabbard on a peg and found his cleanest clothes.

The reason for not taking the blonde stranger directly to the dining hall was so Verdracht could inform a merchant already there that the Ghurate (council) wanted a word. The trader walked outside to the large building and presented himself without ceremony. The man on the right smiled and said, “Prestigir, you are much in Gondor, yes?”

“I have long traded along the Anduin, sometimes in Osgiliath, occasionally in Minas Tirith, sir.”

“What do you know of a man called Nag Kath?”

Prestigir thought a moment. The right-living trader was not given to exaggeration. “He is the man who built the water pipe from the mountains to Osgiliath, a great work against plagues. Tell is; he is an Elvish sorcerer from Orthanc. My brother worked on the pipe and said he was kindly and healed sickness among the distressed. His statue is a short, bearded workman.”

The middle man said grimly, “That is not our usual impression of Elves.” 

Prestigir grinned, “I think the artist made a mistake. Ünorigir said he seemed a tall, beardless youth until you read his eyes. I have never seen him, sirs.”

The Khandian asked quietly, “Does his reputation suggest he might favor our cause?”

“I should think so, Ghur Distral, though he has enemies. Tales told; he put the arrow through Frûnzal himself. I do not put much stock in campfire stories.”

They talked for a few more minutes. The three looked at each other and the man on the right said, “Thank you. Go enjoy your supper.”

_____________------_____________

Nag Kath did not enjoy his. A large bite of something he hadn’t tried before proved to be pepper sauce. He scurried out the door and put his head in the stream. When he could feel his tongue again, he went back to the mess room and saw that diners smeared tiny dabs of the substance on other foods. Appetite gone, he looked around the hall. There were twenty-eight men and women eating, some with children. An earlier wave had come and gone.

When he returned to his chair there was a man enjoying stew across from his abandoned plate. The fellow smiled. Nag Kath wasn’t sure he could still smile but he moved his face enough to manage; ‘hello’. His neighbor nodded and said a blessing in the Rhûnic tongue before putting spoon to bowl. The Elf tried the un-peppered greens and found he could still chew.

That evening the tables were moved to the side and there was a service that reminded Nag Kath of wedding vows in the west with a little Elf-keeper story-telling to boot. Men rose to declaim, some reading, some reciting from memory. A few told new stories. They were all in Rhûnic or further languages he did not understand. The faces were interesting. Were they like the Valarans? Nag Kath stayed for the whole program since there would be no waking rest while his mouth throbbed. When they broke, a man in the garb of an Ithilien river trader gave him a long, thoughtful look before finding his bed.

The next morning his mouth was recovered. He still wasn’t hungry so he saw to Charlo’s accommodations. The horse was among a dozen. There were no individual stalls. Animals could come into a barn or stay in the paddock. During the day, two lads led them out to graze in the first grass Nag Kath had seen in weeks. Their windward side of this ridge stole every drop of water High Valar Manwë brought east. Two small dogs kept sheep from straying.

His minders did not seem to mind him wandering so he had a closer look at the buildings without going in. Most were apartments, like the ones he owned in Dale. Families were given space according to their size. They had central tables but meals were almost always held in the dining hall just like Gandalf’s Orthanc. Nag Kath chuckled thinking all such kitchens must have a Rosas rapping the knuckles of untimely diners.

The view was from the ridge of the ‘Nose’, a peninsula jutting into the sea between the harbors of Mistrand and Lest to the west. From an eagle’s eye, the formation was more like a fist with the thumb raised. Of course, only ill-bred company would use that comparison. He had gone better than half way around the Rhûn and was fairly close to Gondor again, albeit a very unclaimed area of Aragorn’s domain. Peoples of those lands spoke only Rhûnish and looked east for kinship. This was close to Mordor too. Nag Kath wondered when his quest would bring him to the deepest dark.

_____________------_____________

Verdracht found the Elf washing in a stream out of common view and sat along the bank. The man put a stalk of long-grass in his teeth and waited. After Nag Kath dressed he was told, “The Ghurs would like a word.”

The three were arrayed in the same chairs and same clothes, probably the same mugs. Without far-speaking they could not have vetted his contentions so Nag Kath thought this might be another probe. That was of no moment. Being immortal, he had more time than they did. The middle man opened with, “We may have underestimated you, young man. Are you Kath of the Water?”

Ohhh. Kath of the Wargs too. “I have been called that in the tongues of men.”

“Very well. We will dispense with idle chat. What do you know of Orlo?”

“Precious little. I met a man who called himself Orlo on my first trip to Kugavod. We were both in the Bror’s custody, he as a hostage against a family debt and me while his Excellency confirmed his brother’s forces were massing on the Celduin. We had three pleasurable days together in a walled garden speaking much of his Gelansor observances.”

Without changing his conversational tone he added, “It was all in a haze of sorcery. The pretty garden was really a dirt field. Walls in my mind had fallen centuries before. It took me a year to pull the threads of that spell. But the conversations were real. He set the hook and I followed the line to this place.”

The man in the center took in every word. “Nag Kath, my name is Vrenstides. To my left is Grandol Zoldan and this is Amedies Distral. You are among those who seek right living. Only small groups are known to each other. I am sure you can appreciate that. Would you mind telling me more of your new friend?”

Nag Kath held up a finger to beg their indulgence while he rummaged through his satchel, producing the picture of Orlo sitting on the stoop drinking tea. It was an excellent rendition of the man’s face, even if the background was poor. Distral was close enough for the Elf to slide the paper across the polished table. The Khandian’s face was completely still, registering neither concern nor recognition. But there was something. He passed it to Vrenstides. Zoldan got it last. None of the men spoke. 

While they considered the drawing, Nag Kath added, “He said he tried to remember his verses rather than writing new ones so Those Named could find him. He also said he was there while the Bror settled accounts with his brother-in-law, the Khan of Mistrand. I later found the Khan died without heirs and there was no debt. 

Still holding the sketch, Zoldan asked, “Did this person say where he was from, Mr. Kath?”

“He said he built fishing boats in Mistrand for long years before retiring. That was where I looked and where you found me. He also said his wife was dead and a married daughter lived elsewhere.”

When the three men were silent, Nag Kath said, “Then, there is this.” He pulled the rock tracing and passed that to the Khandian. “I interrogated a Visitor on the battlefield. Before he died, he told me it was how I could praise his men to the dark lord.”

Zoldan had not gotten the sheet but he knew what it was. Barely above a whisper, “A Visitor willingly told you this?”

“Not willingly.”

Vrenstides preemptively said, “We will have to consider this, Nag Kath.”

It was time for them to share. In his Elf-Lord voice he spoke, “Then consider this also. I have come to learn if these Visitors, or anyone else, can summon dark powers. They are out there. I slew a minion of the Witch-King seeking to escape his living death. If right-living opposes the return of darkness, you have my sword. In exchange, I must learn everything about them … and a good deal about you, though I will not ask who others are or how to find them. Take as long as you need.”

Two riders left the next morning on a long journey.

_____________------_____________

Late that afternoon he was called to a smaller room with just Vrenstides and Zoldan standing by the door. Both bowed for the first time. Zoldan said, “Your offer is accepted. We have much to learn.”

There was a pattern to Nag Kath’s outrageous statements to high councils. They always needed to ruminate and despite the answer, they generally had no idea what to do with him. The Ghurate moved more quickly. 

His first order of business was asking about archives. He needed someone to explain those runes and the history of such symbols. The archives were a pair of men, one about fifty and the other nearing seventy. There was no written tradition among these people, damning proof if caught by any of a dozen enemies. The younger man was nearly blind from birth and was taught the skill of long, precise storytelling. He had earned his meals traveling the vast distances between what passed for towns but was now here and welcome for as long as he liked. Most of his stories had been for entertainment and he would localize them to please the crowd. Now he concentrated on the right-living tracks that had been so dangerous to even speak.

The older man was a Lorist; their version of a Scholar. He had read archives in undisclosed locations but spoke very little of the common tongue. Ghur Distral took Nag Kath to meet them and told them the blonde’s emersion was of the first moment. It would take both men, one to read the texts and say them, the other to translate into Westron. As far as they knew, no one here spoke any Elvish tongues.

No one anyplace these men had been knew the runes’ origins, Pultic possibly? Easterlings were an ancient people who had warred with and on both Morgoth and Sauron since the First Age. Without written lore, official history was what the ruling warlord said it was. Loresayers of the past thought the runes no older than first time Sauron seized Mordor in the early second age.

The runes were read from top to bottom starting with the right-hand column. And they were not letters in the Elvish form. There was no writing here at the time. These were the symbols for their version of the Valar and Maiar. In the entire pantheon, some were missing and others added. Orlo said as much since the original imaginings of Eru had not contemplated dry lands or enhanced servants of darkness. Sauron’s servants were powers unto themselves.

The inscription was a homily adopted by the first Wainriders as a battle prayer. The riders were a scourge to Gondor generations after the Great Plague, some two thousand years after the runes first appeared. The symbols on the rock were probably recently chiseled for junior Visitors in the field. The army would have had several operatives and certainly one with the cavalry as advisor to Frûnzal, not known as a life-long adept. In essence, the inscription said;

**_The strong and patient embrace the darkness_ **

**_in taking their due from the weak_ **

That did not sound motivational to Nag Kath but something was probably lost in translation. He was also no great believer in the invincibility of the Maiar, having met a few.

To his real purpose, Nag Kath asked if these Visitors actually did use sorcery. The younger man, Cirszal, saw well enough to look at Brestegir. Getting the confirmation he needed, Cirszal began reciting a poem that had been told through generations of people like him for an age. It was a tale of darkness and power, a frightening, bleak story of savage lords near the back of Mordor. This was not a poem he told for groats in taverns. 

The man translated that into pidgin Westron after every verse. Not used to stopping, Cirszal regained his footing and continued in voice more grim than his own. There were wells of power for those strong enough and ruthless enough to draw. They led their peoples to victory against the soft, womanish men of the west, men who disdained them and said they deserved the barren lands left to them by their failure. These were powers conferred by Sauron and even older and more terrible humors. At any time, men were called to darkness as payment for this gift.

Cirszal finished half an hour later. He repeated key phrases many times to keep the meter and pacing of the poem. Nag Kath had heard that before. Precise story-telling held to exact forms so the Sayer could remember all of the verses and keep the audience attentive. Brestegir had heard it many times. Cirszal was a master and the best in his long experience. Cirszal smiled knowing he had done it justice and nearly drained his own cold tea after not drinking through his performance.

Brestegir then began another more hopeful, melodic poem of their folk. It started with loss, constant loss. When times were bleak, no dark Lord or summoning gave surcease. There was only taking. But men and women stayed home more than they raided and were left empty inside. It could be many lives of men before they were called to fight or leave or survive through famine and plague. They had only that moment at any time in life.

Cirszal took the next verse of the same poem in a higher voice. He sang that no greatness could be made of any but small things. And that in waiting for greatness, whether it ever came, men and women should hold true to their families and friends, for in them was greatness also.

Brestegir sang the last verse in a pleasing baritone. In Catanard, the hero had the higher pitch and the villain the low. These were both hopeful. The man sang of care but also of vigilance. Darkness feared them because they disdained it. They must remember that which was said and done because it was their strength through time immeasurable. But even the longest time was made of moments and each of those must be lived correctly.

When they finished they both looked pleased. This was lore that was appreciated among them. Nag Kath asked if he could come again because there was so much he hoped to learn. They would be glad of his company. As he left, several of the people Nag Kath recognized from dinner arrived. Brestegir and Cirszal were teachers and it was time for a lesson. The Elf thanked them and walked into the sun.

Nag Kath went back every morning for a week. They seemed to know nothing practical about sorcery but he was fascinated by the teachings and history of the eastern world. It was a big place. Folk here had little to do with peoples south of Mordor and only occasionally from lower Khand or places western men did not even name. In return, he told them of Gondor and Dale, leaving out the personal parts. On the third meeting he brought the pictures of Orlo and the dark Elf. Brestegir was like the three elders in that he looked very closely as if there was something familiar about Orlo but finally shook his head. 

Nag Kath was learning quickly but needed more practical information about the lay of the land. A partial answer came when the merchant from the Anduin was whittling a tent peg near an outdoor fire pit. The Elf wandered by and greeted him. He greeted everyone, having never been introduced to the group as a whole. This one answered back in what was called Westron-of-the-road. “Good afternoon, sir. I see you are an adept of lore.”

The Elf said, “I am, though new to it and unready. I am Nag Kath, at your service.” 

“Prestigir, at your service, sir. I cannot help but think I have seen you in my travels.”

Nag Kath said, “It is possible, I have been much in Gondor and Dale.”

As if suddenly remembering, “Ah, were you associated with the aqueduct?”

“Yes, I did design work.”

The man knew he did considerably more than that. “I fear your likeness at the fountain does not do you justice.”

That brought a huge grin, “He represents the men we lost. The city carved my name instead. I do not mind. Plain folk should be honored as well.”

The merchant finished sharpening the peg and tossed it with two others for his next trip. He may have brought things here but there was nothing to take back. That he stayed meant he was more than a peddler.

This village was a place of learning and rest. About half of the residents lived here year-round, farming and caring for the grounds. The others were those who shared lore of right-living in their travels and came here for replenishment. The merchant said, “Forgive me, Nag Kath, but you are not the usual man come for guidance.”

“No, I do not blend in a crowd. I come to discover if the claims of those known as the Visitors can be made manifest. There are those among us who hope that is not so.”

That was more direct than eastern men usually spoke. And Prestigir had heard more camp gossip about this creature than he shared with the Ghurate, that he was capable of magic and great killing, possibly a former dark servant himself. He found it hard to assign such things to this beardless one. As inconspicuously as possible, he looked into the blonde’s eyes and saw nothing sinister. Prestigir had plenty of topics he could innocently drop. “My brother worked on the aqueduct, in the second and third years.”

Nag Kath smiled again. “Yes, that was when we were trying to discover what could be done by men of our age. Such a thing had not been attempted since the early Stewards. When the waters of the Morgul Vale were finally safe, it was right to replace the bog water of fever season. It seems to work. Folk still get sick but not like they did.”

Prestigir paid a compliment, “In keeping with our humble retreat, you said there was rightness in the work.”

The Elf thought just a moment and said, “Yes, it was a right thing, for the people who live or live better, for children to come, for doing something better than we have done, yes. And do not forget bringing all manner of peoples together for common purpose.” Again, the grin, “I think the Dwarves are my favorite.”

In what was becoming genuine interest, Prestigir asked, “What brings you to Yhammâs Fruhir? This cannot be your steady road.”

The tall Elf gathered his arms around his knees and simply said, “I was invited. Alas, I cannot say who offered. And you, sir? You seem prepared to leave.”

“That is uncertain. I look forward to speaking with you until then.”

_____________------_____________

Prestigir’s uncertain leaving depended on his next conversation with the three Ghurs. This might be more important than spreading right-living along the river.

“Hello, Prestigir. This can only be about the pale one.”

“It is indeed, Master Distral. I think will continue my lessons here for a while.”

“I see. Yes, further learning is honored among the wise. Are there things to discuss with the council?”

“If that is convenient.”

The Khandian fingered his thin beard and said, “The others are right here. Let us ask their thoughts.” The two walked into Vrenstides’s office where the two men were having tea. Prestigir’s presence meant information.

The merchant began; “Sirs, I just had an off-hand conversation with your guest. He is exactly who I thought. There is considerable more that I cannot confirm, but it is mostly from men who do not stretch their yarns overmuch.” Prestigir took the men’s silence as assent. “A story that no one gave much heed was that the creature was one of the Uruk-orcs of the White Hand. He was transformed to Elvish form in the reckoning. I am not sure I believe it either.

“What I have on good authority is that he was the silver wind who slew Taneûl’s troop on the Dwarf Road all those years ago. That would make him a very dangerous man, despite his youthful appearance. He shot Taneûl himself from a hundred and twenty paces as the Richtren proclaimed Visitor wardings over the slain. He spitted Frûnzar riding at a gallop from eighty.”

The Ghurate, and every other man in Rhûn had heard the story of a specter sweeping through rogue Balchoth mercenaries, the first of those seeking to preserve dark ways against the parochial rule of Telantish. In an instant, half of them were dismembered to the moan of Festram and the swoosh of a hundred swords. One survivor repented his wickedness and was a friend to their order. He told them many times as the telling eased his horror. Now, it seemed the assassin of both leaders was among them.

Distral repeated, “Prestigir thought to extend his studies before returning to the world.”

Zoldan said, “Please do so, but nothing too obvious.”

__________------_________

The three Ghurs remained seated after Prestigir left. Zoldan considered options; “If he will not stay until the messengers return, our options are thin. By all accounts, we cannot stop him. We are a place of rest and learning. This is properly a matter for the southern council.

Vrenstides interjected, “I agree, but we may need to act. This may be very good for us but there is always the chance he is not what he seems. If he must leave, perhaps we send him to Gûshand and they can inform the council.”

Distral gathered his robes in the chair and smiled before saying, “We flatter ourselves, old friends. We succeed in the absence of dark lords. Were one to rise, his minions would squash us like gureeq grubs. Let the Kath stay as long as he likes and then we send him closer.”

Vrenstides interjected, "Do you suppose he is the one ... the one said to replace Orlo in the flesh?" The others didn't answer.

Prestigir had much the same conversation with himself. The merchant was, among other things, a merchant. That meant earning more than his costs by convincing people how much they needed his wares. Nag Kath seemed to be enjoying himself with the Lorists. He was not anxious. He had not even leered at the widow Nienzal, whose husband was called to his ancestors much too soon. The merchant decided he would attend children’s tutoring, returning to fundamentals, he would say.

Neither the Ghurate nor Prestigir had any problems with the outlander guest. The merchant told Nag Kath that messengers had been sent to friends further south and would be at least a month in returning. The Elf should stay here until then. The Elf understood their reasoning and readily agreed

Ghur Distral persuaded Teüchir (Scholar) Harmolu to privately tutor their unusual guest in Plainstongue. It was an amalgam of northern Pultic and southern Apysaic speech with a good measure of Westron nouns, because they had more things to name. It had evolved to half Variag (Khandian). Sauron’s Black Speech was impenetrable for any of his peoples. Even the orcs had to truncate it. Southrons and northern Easterlings had little in common but when they had to work together, they needed a language to make themselves understood, if not appreciated.

Prestigir had more practical experience with the pidgin tongue so he attended most lessons. The Elf brought his satchel and pad, writing notes based on sounds in Sindarin which had more harsh and guttural tones than Westron. As in everything he tried to learn, he made progress. Even so, after the second day he said, “I was told that all languages came from old Elvish. I confess I cannot see the resemblance. Is it that without writing, every generation makes small changes until the way is lost?”

Harmolu agreed, “And each village. In times without strife, they stay to themselves. It is only in war or trade that outsiders must converse.”

After four days, Nag Kath asked a question of the merchant, “Please tell me of the Visitors. Until I came to Dorwinion, I had never heard the name.”

Prestigir was sure that was a safe subject so he started as if for a long tale, “They believe in power. Those who have power take what they want, until someone with more takes it for himself. We think first of armies but it is the same when a man takes another’s woman against her will or abuses his neighbors. Children raised thusly know no better.

“They are usually the remnants of favored troops of Sauron, Easterlings to the north, among my people of southern Rhûn and fierce warriors below Mordor. They got better food, weapons, even horses. But it put them in the front line to their destruction. Now they think they should still be chosen and the rest of us think not. They try to summon another dark leader for their cruelty.”

Nag Kath shook his head slowly, “I said I did not know of them, but I know all. That was how I was spawned and raised.”

So, he was an Uruk-hai! What invisible hand made him this?!

The Elf continued, “It was not until I learned caring and love that I could understand cruelty. In their absence, life is merely enduring. A man must be miserable indeed to think those days are better.”

“Why did you go to the Bror, Nag Kath?”

“It was not planned.” The Elf grinned, “There were reports of orc incursions along the northern border of Dale. I offered to scout on my way to visit my family along the Redwater. It seems agents of Frûnzar offered them spoils along the river to keep Dalish and Dwarvish militias looking north.

“The crop was failing so I bribed the orcs with food to stay home. Small groups of Easterling cavalry were noticed along the river as well. It was not until I reached Dorwinion that I knew it was a feint and that the thrust was coming for the vinelands. The pretender’s forces had not crossed so I went to the Bror, told him of his brother’s perfidy and explained western lords would hold him accountable if Easterling troops attacked.

“Dulgov dealt with the infantry on his soil. The cavalry made it to Gondor but rode into a trap.” Nag Kath thought a moment before saying, “I convinced a dying Visitor to tell me how to praise his men to the dark ones. He told me where he hid the stone.”

The Elf said it as if describing the weather. Right-living men were among his Excellency’s troops attacking Frûnzal’s infantry. They all heard of the tormented Gvordling. Prestigir strained to keep his feelings even. He must jolly this strange creature for the good of all, but his stomach turned at what was done to even a bitter foe. 

_____________------_____________

The next three weeks passed pleasantly. The Elf-creature learned enough Plainstongue to order in a tavern. The two Lorists enjoyed telling him stories and songs of their travels. He practiced archery, leaving no doubt he shot the Usurper. 

After a month there was no word from the messengers and yet the Elf was not chafing to leave. Some mornings he would go watch the dogs nip the heels of wayward sheep to the whistles of two teenagers. He visited Charlo often and rode him bareback to assure his hosts he would not leave without his belongings and weapons. He did press on matters of sorcery, eventually getting an admission that there was some in their order. The messengers had been sent to inform those folk. There was also knowledge in the most unlikely place. Nag Kath asked Harmolu, “Honored teacher, I was told that Visitors do not eat fish that live on the bottom of the lake. Is that so?”

“The learned man smiled, “They will if they must, but they disdain it when thin fish or meat can be had. The bearded fish thrive on decayed things. Some men would not have the fish’s dinner pass to themselves.”

“But this does not bother your people?”

“I do not care for those fish either, but some men have no choice. There are many fish in the sea. Most waters have all kinds. But in Mistrand, mud from the river discourages the red and blue fish, leaving mostly the bearded-fish. To catch the others, a man must afford a boat.”

Dim light dawned, “And those born to favor should reap the harvest of boats as is their due?”

With a wink, “You understand these things quickly, young man. Here and in other lands as well.”

“Honored teacher, is there special praise or lore about men who build these boats or catch deep fish?”

“The maker of boats is considered a rare craftsman. They must curve something straight to keep fishermen afloat. The man who does that poorly does not do it long.”

Nag Kath walked back to his room. Had he noticed, his hand was stroking his chin. Was the break between those who were glad Sauron was gone and those who wanted him back as simple as what kind of fish they thought they deserved? Probably not. The Haradrim had likely never even seen a fish. Now, what fish were found in the Nûrnen Sea in the black of Mordor?

After six weeks the messengers had not returned. That concerned all who knew because of both the towering guest and that the two men were beloved of their company. Nag Kath asked to speak to the Ghurate.

“We can imagine why you have come. Must you leave now?”

“I should. If you can direct me to a place where those more like me can decide my coming, I would be in your debt.”

“Travel to the steppes and from there to Lhûg. Prestigir has a map but there are roads the whole way. You must go alone. The men who would take you have not returned. Pray for them. There is an inn called the Khruevesta on the river. You will attract attention. The day after you arrive, pay for your meal with this coin.” Verdracht walked around the table and handed Nag Kath what seemed like an ordinary groat. He dropped it in an empty vest pocket.

That afternoon he said his goodbyes. Prestigir would return to the Great River. The Elf would remember this place fondly.


	24. Khand

**_Chapter 24_ **

**_Khand_ **

His first two days took him southeast. The Sûrûbeki was clearer upstream of the Mistrand delta. He followed that for another day and then forded into what were called the horseplains of southern Rhûn. The eastern bank was a little greener than the east side of the ‘Nose.’ Folk were tending sheep and fields of gureeq. He expected the stares but in these lands, soldiers were the ones to avoid so farmers kept farming. The Ghurs had said as much.

The road would have been hard in a cart but it was fine for a horseman. It was hot in the afternoons. Charlo did well at a comfortable pace with just enough streams along the way. Nag Kath was given a leather bag that was cleverly sewn to hold water as long as you kept the seams upright. It held enough for three days which Prestigir said was plenty to refill at streams. 

They reached the Temple of Lôkuthor on the second day. There were no such structures in the west. Grand buildings were often built in honor of those past but always intended to be used by those living. This was a building dedicated to a spirit where people came for blessings or interventions, said to somehow bring those spirits closer than their own homes. There was a village surrounding it and no one had claimed it for their own, so the old protections still warded against trespassing. Nag Kath did not have enough plainstongue to ask who Lôkuthor was but he did manage to order a dinner of grain and a new green.

In the morning he walked through the temple with the feeling powers had stayed here before. Powers always leave a trace. For good or bad he could not say. Just east of town was a crossroads leading either south or continuing east. As the crow flies south would be faster but the terrain was rougher and water less common. There weren’t a lot of horses on the horseplains. It was much like eastern Rohan with enough grass and weeds to feed flocks of hardy sheep. The only horses he saw were pulling carts or under troopers. One troop did ask his business but waved him on with no threat. 

Water was getting more plentiful with rivulets snaking from rising ground on the steppe. Three days after the temple they crossed a creek that was stirrup high and fully forty feet across. It was colder than further west. It had a few fish that had not learned the difference between real bugs and hooks tied with string. That made for a welcome break after Lembas and gureeq porridge. He caught enough to last two days. Water here generally flowed north to the Rhûn drainage. Prestigir had recommended he follow the eastern fork of this river rather than take the road. It was not difficult ground and the grazing was better.

The land was neither pretty nor dull and except for a few areas of loose rock, they made good time. Five days of that landed them in an actual town of perhaps four hundred souls. It had an inn to serve wayfarers from the intersection of the road back towards Mordor, one north to eastern Rhûn and his path almost due south. This was about the ill-defined border between Rhûn and Khand. Most people spoke Variag, the Khandian tongue.

And there were travelers, mostly men walking loaded mounts. Wares were made rather than grown since anywhere you went had the same crops. There were tinkers, smiths, men selling weavings from his intended destination. One old man and his grandson sold fine threads in different colors for embroidery. There was also a healer with a stock of herbs and ointments for pains. With her remedies she also kneaded muscles with her powerful hands to remove soreness. Nag Kath tried that for a groat. His muscles seldom hurt very long but it seemed a new sort of healing to him. Skeptics might think the woman was hawking other physical comforts but given her build and face, it would be the pleasure of later resort.

He stayed here a couple days, mainly to rest a split in one of Charlo’s hooves. It wasn’t necessary but neither was making it worse wandering the back of beyond. The inn had beds stuffed with some sort of straw that was quite soft so Nag Kath even slept a little after being pummeled by the stout healer. He was refreshed the next day. To pass the time, Nag Kath drew children’s pictures for them to keep. Usually their mothers or grandmothers watched with a mixture of uncertainty and enjoyment. The blonde man seemed safe enough and this was the most exciting thing their little ones had seen in some time. 

As luck would have it, they had enjoyment two days running. The next night featured entertainment that attracted townsmen and many from surrounding hamlets to watch players sing, dance and reenact historical events. It was a third-cousin to Catanard. Well into the presentation, Nag Kath realized the players represented local gods, demons and creatures in-between. Some were grim and solemn. Others were mischievous sprites or comical people caught in the great-ones’ wiles. Music was played on pipes and drums or little steel plates that rang at different pitches. Like low Catanard, the audience cheered or hissed the characters which only made their antics funnier. 

The show was done in something else he hadn’t seen. A piece of hill had collapsed years before creating about two-thirds of a bowl at a good angle for people to sit. Most brought blankets. The bottom of the bowl had been flattened to serve as the stage. Men in gray carried brightly painted screens representing nature or indoor backdrops. There was quite an array of color for a place that seemed so tan. 

Nag Kath was starting to notice men and women looked more like each other the further he got from the Anduin. Most had smooth, olive or light brown skin. Men were not heavily bearded. That favored the women whose eyes were always dark brown with carefully plucked eyebrows. Both men and women of stature wore bracelets of what looked like silver, sometimes with garish colored stones. Many wore hats of long cloth that could serve as masks if high winds blew stinging sand. Two women gave him long looks but they did so firmly gripped by their husbands. That was fine. He had work to do.

The southern route from here would stay on the river the whole way. It had a fish that wasn’t quite a trout but tasted close enough. He enjoyed those, cooked in his Trum Dreng skillet, until they made the regional capital of Tuarcmindon. Charlo’s hoof was still a concern so they stopped with plans for another two days at an inn near a farrier. Nag Kath had learned some horse-words and the blacksmith knew a little Westron. The man knew horseshoes too and pulled a nail he thought was too close to the break. 

It was lucky that the Elf had made it this far through formerly enemy territory without incident. Nag Kath helped by not staying out after men had time to drink much and he left the women alone. Sometimes even that is not enough. He ate at a place serving nothing stronger than tea with dinner. Walking out the door, three young bucks in ordinary clothes but wearing the lapel gorgets of Broric cavalry started jeering at the oversized blond foreigner. He smiled and played ignorant before walking the other direction.

The catcalls grew uglier. If he ran, he would be chased. If he used ‘The Fast’, a lot of people would see it, the same for a confusion spell. Reasoning would not help in a different tongue. These lads were spoiling for a fight. He turned as the three approached. Either they were not expecting him to stand or they were deciding how to throw the first punch. All three carried swords and he had his. If they touched theirs, they would die.

The shortest of three short men stepped closer and proclaimed something that probably insulted his mother and his complexion. Nag Kath did not even blink. The fellow thought he would try again a step nearer and was instantly on his backside with blood pouring from his nose. The other two didn’t see the punch but threw themselves at the stranger catching the same right fist across both jaws. They would be out for hours. The Elf smiled and pulled the lead assailant to his feet. The move included a very small confusion spell. Nag Kath put his arm around the man, maybe still a boy, and walked towards his inn like they were best friends. Butchering an already butchered tongue he asked, “What’s your troop?”

Doubly confused, the fellow took a few moments to speak but then spilled, “Actum’s Third Horse.”

“Fine unit. Brave men all.”

“Umhummm.”

“How many of you are there?” His Plainstongue was not that good. He tried again, “Many men?”

“Two and twenty.”

“Proud men. Go help friends. Not remember.”

The trooper meandered back towards a small crowd gathered around two of Actum’s Third. Between the drink, the punch and the spell, he would have a sore head tomorrow. The innkeeper, like most innkeepers, had better language skills than the soldiers. He said the company was billeted east of the large paddock. Nag Kath spent his time near the river. 

From here it was a nine or ten day ride to Lhûg. He did see other militia troopers. This might be their training season if they worked like Dale or Gondor. Farmers pulled grain in earlier than in the west. The river valley kept him from seeing very far to either direction but this was quite fertile. Along with the grain were plots of cucumbers and marrow-roots. There were gourds that people baked or stuffed with other foods. There was ko-ton too. That was prized in the west because it made such fine, soft clothing. He bought a bolt hoping someone might replace the garments that months of travel were thinning. And the women kept getting better looking. They had not yet followed the latest Gondoran fashion of exposing their forearms, but what he could see was appealing. 

It had been a while.

_____________------_____________

On the 3rd of July he reached the city of Lhûg. It was the confluence of two rivers from east and west forming the stretch he had traveled. Officially in Khand, there might be as many as five-thousand citizens of the local Khan whose residence was away from the river to the east. There was a strong Rhûnic influence too. At the purer ends of their scales, the difference in appearance was striking, but quite a few folk showed both bloods and spoke either tongue interchangeably. Now aware of the quality of fish, he wandered on foot through a busy market looking at dead eyes staring back. There were whisker-fish and others as well. He asked the price, the first phrase he learned, and found them all about the same. 

Having him pay with a special coin at a known place was more obvious than Nag Kath liked. They couldn’t get him, but conspirators burned with hot irons would divulge. Maybe it was a man who washed the plates or delivered vegetables. The innkeeper would certainly handle the money though. The Elf acted distracted and asked about a shop he ambled by. He wasn't to pass the groat until tomorrow so he explored. Three soldiers like the ones further north sauntered towards him. They looked at the oddity and returned to their conversation. 

Dinner tonight was a fish stew with something resembling ale made from gureeq and millet. It could not possibly be good … until it was. The brew was lighter than those of the west with less alcohol but it tasted fine and went well with dinner. Since there were no Dwarves to drink with, he just had one.

The next day he saw another healer who kneaded muscles as her primary labor. This one was poured in the same mold as the first. When she was done abusing Nag Kath’s back he felt a little dizzy but it passed. She spoke a bit of Westron and told him that this was a time-honored service passed from mistress to adept over ten years of apprenticeship further south. They needed to be strong and they also needed to learn the points causing pain or where blood was not running true. She assured him his blood was fine. That was worth two groats.

It was time to spend the coin. The inn was serving lamb stew tonight. There was no getting out of it. Carrots and greens were identifiable. They served the same ale as the other place. He laid the groat on the edge of the table but the server never claimed it. After the lamb chunks were long cold, he caught the maid’s attention and pointed at the groat. She smiled and said, “No, he pay.” When she turned to point at his benefactor, the table was empty. 

Nag Kath smiled back and said, “You keep.” That was for her, not her employer. The coin was gone faster than ‘the fast’.

Outside there was a breeze, not enough to need the cloth face mask but some folk had their robe-hoods up. He did not own a robe and only wore a hat when traveling. He pulled it down to stay on. His room was upstairs so if no one approached him shortly, he would see if they had invited themselves in. The confusion spell on his bags might help them answer questions.

Nobody came. Nobody was upstairs. The next move was theirs. He went into a soft rest and thought about the play two weeks ago. 

Up with the sun, Nag Kath had a look at Charlo’s hoof. It was fine. There was a small cane cylinder tied in his mane. Soothing his horse he combed it into his fingers. Other than a sleeping stableboy no one was here so he opened the note and was instructed to ride west after settling his affairs at the inn. He paid in advance so that was no more than collecting his bags. 

This was the unused road, there not being much commerce with eastern Mordor. Nag Kath wondered if this was where fine spectacle glass was melted. There seemed no place to hide if you wanted to surprise a rider here. That meant there was. He kept Charlo at barely more than a walk along the stream. After half an hour, he checked the water for humors and let the horse drink. 

The man was quiet. Nag Kath heard him before a human would but this was no Northman trampling his way through briars. A short, slight fellow of local complexion walked up to the road above the bank and said, “A lovely day. Do you have coin for me?”

“I don’t give money to every rough lad who asks.”

“I only need one groat.”

Sorry, I gave it to the maid.”

“A coin like many others. I am sure it was well spent.”

Nag Kath walked Charlo up the bank and bowed to the man whose own horse was tied fifty paces away. The fellow looked up at the Elf and said, “Come, we have no small distance ahead.”

Unlike the chatty Verdracht, his guide did not say another word for an hour. The scenery was much the same, horselands with no horses, patches of green were here and there but they were not farmed. Nag Kath wondered if the rain in these streams was new since Mordor changed hands. There was game; small deer that kept their distance. 

The guide finally said, “We will ford here. They crossed to the middle of the same river and walked upstream several hundred feet before picking their way up a spill of shale chips that left no tracks. From there they rounded a hill bearing east into a secluded valley created by one of the streams feeding the river beside their route. It could not be seen from the road. The age of spying crows must be over.

The place looked much like Yhammâs Fruhir but twice the size. There was a large hall, several squat buildings and a dozen dormitories or apartments following the contour of the slope. Both horses were tied in front of one of the larger administrative buildings and the men walked in as they removed their gloves.

“Wait here, please.”

Nag Kath did. There was a young woman who looked like she could have wrestled both of his muscle healers with one hand. She gave him a placid look but said nothing.

Another man, taller but still Khandian, came out of a hall and bowed before silently gesturing for the Elf to follow. Four doors down they entered a modest room with a dining table and eight chairs. The walls had hangings and tapestries a bit like those of Minas Tirith but they were hunting or nature scenes rather than battles and Lords. Moments after he arrived, another man dressed in darker brown clothes followed behind them and shut the door.

After they were seated, the man in dark said, “I am sorry you did not hear back, Mr. Kath. The messengers were ill and delayed. You may have passed them on your way here.” This man’s speech had the lilting quality ascribed to Khand but his Westron was good. 

The man who showed him in added, “It was unfortunate you were not here to help. They are fine now.” This man’s accent was unplaceable, much like folks said of the Elf’s until he worked around his orcish inflections. 

In his normal voice Nag Kath soothed, “The Ghurs were concerned. I am glad they are healed.”

Brown said, “The messengers told us you would be staying in Yhammâs Fruhir for at least a month. I hope your visit was profitable.”

Like his interview there, no one introduced himself but they were affable. Nag Kath thought of them as Mr. Tan and Mr. Brown. A man brought tea for all but did not offer mug choosing. This was the true Telandrin. He would get some for Mr. Tallazh! In answer, “I learned a great deal about this part of the world, and of things past.”

“Ahhh,” said Mr. Tan. “We come to that. Would you mind telling us why you are here?”

“No, but perhaps some introductions are in order. I am Nag Kath. I do not know what you know of me but I am no secret anymore.”

Mr. Brown said, “We know of you, Nag Kath. I am Khilestu. My associate is Choran Zielthir. You might describe us as the soldiers of right-living. 

It would be hard to stop thinking of him as Mr. Tan but Zielthir added, “Rhûn certainly knows of you. Thought I grieve for mothers and wives, our position has improved. We hope you have leisure to stay here and taste different fruit of the same tree.”

“My time is yours.”

Their time did not start now so Nag Kath took Charlo to the stable and followed his guide to deposit his bags in a larger and more comfortable room than his last, housed in one of the dormitory buildings. It had a small glass window facing north. Dinner was much the same as in Rhûn as well with a mess hall serving men, women and even more children in two waves. The red sauce earned his respect. 

Everyday Khandians seldom come in thick sizes. Absent the dark lord, some eventually ate their way to plump but it took work. In the long history of here and five hundred miles in any direction, bodies learned to live with less. No sooner had he thought that than a man favoring northern Rhûn with a Northman’s braided beard and tight vest sat across from him and reached a paw over in western fashion. “Name’s Tolvern, Richas Tolvern. Welcome to Hanvas Tûr.”

An equally hearty voice returned, “Nag Kath, good to meet you.”

The fellow broke his fresh loaf and dipped it in some sort of stew. “Are you here for the Recitations?”

“I hope I have not missed them.”

“Nay, don’t start until Wednesday, though you would not know it for all the people practicing. Gelansor is but once a year!”

Nag Kath had forgotten about that. Yes, the time is right. Two years ago he was listening to Orlo fondly remembering his wife’s affections after three days of celibacy. He hadn’t forgotten why he was here or how to innocently extract information. “I hope to meet some old friends as well. Tomorrow I shall explore.”

“Good! You do that.” Nothing came of the probe but they talked amiably for the rest of the meal and looked forward to meeting in due course. There was still good light when the later meal shift filtered in so Nag Kath took his constitutional walk and surveyed the grounds. Both right-living retreats had no military defense. If they were attacked, they would fight on open ground. Those days might be over but raiders would not need dark lords to steal horses. There would be other defenses.

_____________------_____________

His waking rest was more peaceful than usual. There was a calm here that helped thoughts glance away effortlessly. One day he might even discuss this with a real Elf. It lasted longer than usual too, almost four hours if he read the night correctly. Insects were singing in full voice. There must be a pond because frogs were giving them a run for their money. 

He opened his eyes with the sun and dressed. This time, he did not lay a spell on his bags. Sure enough, there was a pond, two of them actually, one feeding the other. Romantic frogs jumped in the water when he walked around the bank. 

He froze. A duu crow (crebain) in a short tree preened itself waiting for opportunity. Nag Kath watched it motionlessly for five minutes. A woman walking by was about to say good morning but the northerling looked so intent she held her tongue. The bird did not seem interested in larger goings-on. After his feathers were in order, he stared below the branches and eventually floated down for some morsel. Quarry bagged, he flew off to the north.

So, they lived. Perhaps no one had the power to draw them to his will. Or if anyone did, they did not use crows. Mr. Tan approached as the crow was flying away and said, “They are just birds now. Come, it is story-time.”

There were four men and the large woman from the office in the meeting room. Cold tea was already in several pitchers. People helped themselves and sat where they liked. Like in Yhammâs Fruhir, these were not formal, lordly gatherings. They were plain folk who had shown skill and wisdom. Nag Kath took a seat near the end after pouring a mug. 

Khilestu spoke after everyone was settled, “Sirs and ma’am, this is Nag Kath who was sent to us from Rhûn. There he spent six weeks learning of our order and wishes to help. He has also seen service. Who of us knows of him?”

Only one man nodded. The woman had hot tea and it was finally cool enough to take a long, satisfying pull. She asked, “What do you know of us, Nag Kath?”

“I learned some fundamentals from a man in Kugavod two years ago and as Khilestu said, I visited Yhammâs Fruhir, learning your ways for six weeks. I favor them and wish you all success, but I am come to discover if the Visitors are capable of congress with remnants of the Dark Lord. 

“Before I ramble on, may I ask what know you of remaining sorceries in western lands?”

“A handsome younger man in modest dress said, “I, for one, am not conversant with such tales. For long lives, folk in the east were only told what our masters wanted us to believe. Since then, we have had other concerns.” There was general head nodding in agreement.

Nag Kath said, “I will try to be brief but this may take days.” He smiled, “This is not sacred lore. Ask questions, offer opinions and disagree at any time." He gathered himself, “I am probably of Saruman’s blood. It saved me in what you call the reckoning and gave me minor sorcerous powers. I was also schooled, too briefly, by Gandalf ere he departed and Radagast to a smaller degree.” Blank looks had him add, “They were wizards, servants of Those Named.” That seemed to help, “I can heal like the women who pull ailments and poisons.” 

“There are large burials of Angmar and Dunnish warriors scattered throughout the west, thousands of men. It is said, and I believe, that they are undead and wait for their revenge when called forth. Now, here is where it becomes uncertain. These wraiths and wights were cursed to this state by the Witch-King of Angmar, largely during his service to Sauron. He is dead. His ring was destroyed, but these spirits remain. I killed one two years ago trying to reach us. There are other powers, neither foul nor fair, that await summoning. That must never happen.”

An older man, bald but with long hair around the sides that was woven into his beard said softly, “I know of such things, but my friends do not know of the wizards. I rode with Falmür near the Gap when Dunlending militias joined us against Helm’s Deep before the final war. Nothing came of the engagement but they told stories of fell graves in the south of their lands that no man of reason would visit. If Nag Kath believes it, I do as well.”

Nag Kath took advantage of their silence to continue, “I believe I was invited to your service, though I can find no one to confirm that this was not an invention of my confusion. I encouraged the Bror to stop his brother from invading the west. He would not let me leave before he found, and thankfully destroyed, most of the Frûnzal’s infantry. I was held in confinement where I met a man who called himself Orlo.” The Elf paused to gauge reactions. Seeing none he continued, “We were in each other’s company for three of eleven days and he told me much of Gelansor and the views of right-living. He was retired from building fishing boats and held hostage against a family debt.

“Again, I can not seem to give you a plain story; the garden in which we stayed did not exist. When I returned I found an abandoned horse ring. The walls were in ruins. I drew sketches of Orlo’s hut with a porch and rails that had not been there for centuries.” That got a response, “Here is a drawing I made of Orlo.”

Nag Kath passed the picture around the table. They all had the same reaction, a long look followed by no recognition. The young woman was to the Elf’s right and got the picture last. She gave it the same study but something stuck. Nag Kath would remember that. 

“It would have taken power to create that glamour, power greater than mine. I did not sense malice. I returned to service in the west but there were enough things wrong in my mind to draw me back. It was a test as well. I needed the wit and courage to return. Perhaps I flatter myself, but I know enough of confusion spells to know I was taken like a greenbottom in the marketplace. I would dearly like to meet this fellow again.”

Mr. Tan asked, “You are here for more than that, though.”

“Yes Ghur Zielthur. Orlo, the man, may help me keep fell spirits from rising again. I am here to discover if the people you call the Visitors have any real power or they are trading on past glory to exhort ordinary armies.”

The last man to speak was the one who had heard of him but had little common-tongue. Nag Kath recognized this as the speech of the Haradrim from experience on the aqueduct. He spoke gently but his voice was resonant and vital. “I heard tell of you from the water. You healed our sick and praised our labor.” The man spoke quietly to the young man briefly for translation and continued, “You have destroyed an army to the north. In my lands there are many young men who tire of farming and toil without notice.” He stopped to speak to his neighbor again. No one filled the pause.

Finally, the younger man spoke for him. “Harad is fertile in sons. A man is judged by his family and sons. There is the next army.” 

Satisfied it had been said the old man finished, “You are counsel to Elessar. Many will seek your death.”

If any expected that to dissuade him, Nag Kath smiled and said, “I fear so. While I am here, I need to know how to confound these Visitors in their nest.”

Mr. Brown wanted to speak with his people and thanked the Elf for coming. Gelansor started in two days so decisions would have to wait. 

Nag Kath left the room wondering just how much they knew about either the apparition of Orlo or the operations of the Visitors. The old boy knew more than the others. This would all have to be done with finesse. These people were on his side. Things always revealed themselves. He was more Elvish than he knew.

That afternoon the powerful woman saw him sitting by the pond and joined him. For such a large figure she sat gracefully and said, “I am a healer also. Perhaps we can discuss that while you stay. I am Nenwûla of the Viersh.”

“I am honored Nenwûla of the Viersh. Anything I can learn to help those in need is welcome. Are you of the school of kneading soreness from the body?”

She said, “I am, though with herbs and the occasional drawing. We were not appreciated here so there are few.”

Nag Kath told her of the good and bad in his experience. “Your talent in body kneading, how does that ease distress?”

She brightened, “We call it Fanzhic. I do not know for immortals such as yourself, but for men and women, tension and waste builds in muscles and organs. This loosens them so they can be expelled. Certain nerves and veins can also be constricted. Learning takes so long because we must not harm attempting relief.”

She cocked her head, “You said your service was more of drawing.”

He smiled, “Yes, that is probably the same as women like you. I am not very good. Remedies take me time to recover. Wise healers teased me that I do not know my limits. Alas, I had more practice than I should have liked with the fevers of Osgiliath. I have some skill in birthing.”

She giggled, “Men usually do not offer such care. It makes them nervous.”

“Men fear what they cannot control. They bluster for excuses but the bringing of life belongs to women. Now, what recitals will you share?”

“Recitations are said alone Nag Kath.”

“Oh, for some reason I thought they were aloud.”

“You are thinking of the men practicing. They compete in fellowship to improve. Women practice theirs alone, though, I suspect some may assist each other privately. I have a good memory and the texts are quite short.”

Nag Kath tried to keep the amusement off his face. “My imaginary friend said he tried to remember his but sometimes needed to review. He also said that younger men would write their own.”

Nenwûla paused with concern but regained her humor saying, “He must have been teasing. It would be silly to rewrite that which is known.”

Nag Kath walked back to his room thinking; ‘that old devil!’

_____________------_____________

Nag Kath lay with his hands behind his head trying to remember every word of the old boat-wright. There were nuances layered on others. He had a good memory too but it was getting stale. His education began in earnest when a man stood at the jamb of his open door. People here were soldiers of right-living. This man was a soldier anywhere. He said in rough Westron, “Let us speak.”

The Elf slipped into his boots and followed him to the pond. The fellow looked about thirty, so too young for the ring war. He was taller than most of these short people and had scars on both hands and under his chin that the short beard could not hide. He was an officer, no error.

The man said without preamble, “I am Shelturn. I was instructed to explain how the Visitors fight.”

Shelturn veered off the path and walked to a stone table with benches on either side for outdoor eating. They sat across from each other. The Elf got the impression that his instructor was not entirely pleased with his errand. It might be that tough men of the wilds did not like or like being seen with pretty men. Shelturn asked, “What do you know of their soldiery?”

“Nothing. My only experience was with a camp preacher. Nothing about him said he could swing a sword.”

“That is what we call a Ghorandul. The Rhûns call them Gvordlings. They are sent to exhort existing troops.”

Nag Kath said, “Well let me ask you this; Frûnzar had about fifteen hundred foot soldiers ready to cross and another four hundred cavalry fording above to secure the landing. How many of these Ghoranduls would have been there?”

That was a more soldierly question than Shelturn was expecting from the pale girl/man. He had been told nothing of the blood on those elegant hands. It deserved a considered answer, “Five to ten, plus the Richtren officer near the general.”

The Elf mulled that and said, “I think that one died, else the other men would have turned on him after the defeat. The one I spoke with had been conditioned with sorcery.”

Now that this northern creature had earned some grudging respect, they spoke for an hour about structure, weapons, tactics and quickening. It seems the Visitors had army units of their own as well as training counselors and spies for distant warlords. 

Nag Kath was completely ignorant about these lands after the One Ring. In the west, stragglers of enemy powers were efficiently killed or brought to terms, like in Dunland. The northern Easterlings were a model of organization since the new Bror brought enough men back to secure the population. 

But inside Mordor and two hundred miles around the open end of the mountains, the slaughter was worse than the war. After thousands of years of abuse and oppression, released slaves, dirt-farmers and survivors fell on each other and returning orcs like wargs for what little was left. It was only in the last five years that warlords came to grudging accommodation over borders and water. It was a hard life, perfect for an order to cultivate selfish ambitions of men who had always taken what they wanted.

Nag Kath asked Shelturn, “Where is their lair and how do I destroy it?”

The soldier became haughty, “That is not for your pale ears.”

The Elf stared at him for a moment. He was naturally patient. He had been so in Rhûn and here too. But it was time to dispense with his farm-boy charm and state matters in terms they could understand. Shelturn gasped and tried to wrench invisible hands from his throat. An instant later he was flung headlong into the smaller pond. Nag Kath left him submerged for half a minute and then hauled him back at his feet, a combination of Flor’s lover and the fish-wight spells.

In his best Elf Lord voice, “Tell me where or next time I leave you under.” He was not a hairless pleasure boy. And if these people had sorceries of their own, they could explain those at the same time.

All Shelturn got out at first was pond water. Then he managed, “I will speak to the Ghurate.” With such dignity as he could muster, the soldier rose and squished back to the buildings.

Nag Kath skipped dinner. At the end of the day, Mr. Brown poked his head in the open door. “We never had a choice, did we?”

“No.”

“Let us get through Gelansor. Then we will talk.” He started to leave and returned to say, “Thank you.”


	25. A Glimpse of Black

**_Chapter 25_ **

**_A Glimpse of Black_ **

The three days went smoothly. Nobody looked at him more suspiciously than they had so the dunking must have stayed quiet. Most people kept to their quarters but there were public lectures and small meetings during the off-hours. He saw Shelturn once but neither spoke. He saw Nenwûla of the Viersh twice. That felt staged. She was sweet on him. Others nodded and bowed, often smiling but usually trying to remember their verses. Elf ears heard backsliding on the joining of man and wife. It colored his wakeful rest.

The morning after the observance, the young man of the council found Nag Kath sitting by the small pond. He was sketching the hills to the north. New trees had waited an age to embrace the sky. They were still short but held so much promise. Had Radagast or the Ents come here out of pity?

The Elf rose before he was addressed and followed the Ghur back to the office. The same people were there and two new ones. On the left was a short, wiry fellow with close-cropped gray hair and light-brown skin. He wore robes of Harad, maybe the south part as Nag Kath remembered the Mumikil crews. To the right was a woman nearing forty whose face showed both beauty and sadness. She had fine features in the eastern tradition, wrapped head to foot in a tan robe with hints of color beneath. The changeling sat without taking tea.

Mr. Brown said, “Nag Kath, I am sorry we forced your hand. It was probably for the best. Sometimes it is hard to imagine that such as you still exist. We are agreed that if you wish to deal with the Yvsuldor, we will aid.”

The Elf asked tentatively, “Yvsuldor?”

“Soldiers of the Witch-King. It is hard to pronounce for your race. Visitors are what we call the emissaries. Their base is at the west end of the Nûrnen Sea, where three rivers empty. That is the best farmland in Mordor and so it is where they command.”

For two hours they talked about how to get there, the approaches, the size of the garrison, their financial support and dozens of other logistical items. In many cases, the Ghurate admitted they did not know or offered their best guess. Nag Kath asked, “Who is in charge?”

The new woman spoke for the first time in a soft, clear voice, “His name is Nulvanash. He has been their leader for twelve years, a soldier who came up through the ranks. He is a ruthless man and does what he wants.” She took a sip of tea. This was difficult for her to say. “Nulvanash may show mercy or compassion. If he changes his mind, it is terrible. There are a dozen men near him every hour and two companies of thirty as permanent guards. They cannot be bribed.”

Nag Kath knew she had learned this the hard way. They would speak privately. It was time for the essential question, “What manner of sorcery does this Nulvanash command?”

The woman, as yet unnamed, explained, “He holds a ring. It is plain and gold. He wears it at all times. It is said to have powers of old, of the days when fell lords demanded all.”

The Haradrim asked, “Now that you know of their defenses, what hope have you of taking it?”

Nag Kath said with the faintest touch of whimsy, “I intended to be invited.”

_____________------_____________

Now that he had answers, everyone was surprised at how patient their guest became. He studied, practiced archery, attended some of the smaller lectures and even a few of the larger hall congregations. His Plainstongue improved but the more common tongue here was Variag (Khandian) so he mostly listened to that. And he sought an audience with the mysterious woman of the meeting.

It could not be granted because she did not live there. She had come from Lhûg during Gelansor when answers were needed. He would go to her if someone would arrange the introduction. Four days later, he was told he would be received the next day. Charlo had had enough right-living. After better than a week in a small paddock; he wanted to run. And run they did. 

Her name was Chûran and she lived in a private home on the western edge of the city. A small, dark maid cracked the scrolled peep door and then opened the main door without a word. He was expected. She showed him into the main room and gestured for him to sit in an upholstered chair that sank so low his knees pointed at the ceiling. Hot tea arrived. A few minutes later she came down the stairs. He had to catch himself thinking she was Eniece. The woman was petite but proportioned the same, her hair almost black but showing red highlights. She was still covered from neck to feet but with fewer layers. Chûran bowed before sitting in a matching chair to his side.

In the same, lyric accent of the meeting she said, “You seem distracted, Mr. Kash.”

“Forgive me, you reminded me of my wife.”

“She waits for you at home?”

“I am afraid not.”

The woman blew across the rim of her mug and set it down without sipping. “How can I assist my friends?”

“You have experience of Nulvanash.” It was a question.

There was the smallest trace of a smile. It changed her face completely. “I do. I was among the tribute girls taken when I was fifteen. I came from a village on the Sirlish, this side of the Nûrnen. The warlord of Furnar Durosh chose others for his needs and the rest of us were given to junior officers. Mine was Nulvanash. He kept me and used me when he wanted.

“As his power grew, he chose to work quietly. Rather than command armies that fought and often lost, he would advise and bring other tyrants to his thinking. The ruler of the Furnar Durosh had an unfortunate accident and Nulvanash was elevated to his position. His men invested two neighboring districts including the capital city at the three river delta. I oversaw new girls coming as tax from those with nothing else.”

Her tea was cool enough to sip. She delicately touched her lips with an embroidered cloth and seemed lost in her thoughts. Nag Kath spoke gently, “And now it is you who are distracted, my Lady.”

Her eyes cleared and she offered the same tiny smile, “I am sorry. I fear your memories are more pleasant than mine. After a few years, he grew tired of me. I expected to be passed among his captains for their own pleasure so I went away one night with a few mementos to help soften my new life. I hope you are not shamed to be in my company, Mr. Kash.” 

“Not at all. The lady of whom I spoke had much the same befall her. Lords on both sides of the river have their way.”

“Thank you, Mr. Kash. That was kind. Now, what plans for my old keeper?”

They spoke for an hour. She told him of a spy who lived only a few blocks away. The man certainly knew her by sight but nothing of her past. Before they parted, Nag Kath took his sketch pad and had her describe both Nulvanash’s face and his ring. The face took quite a while but the ring was a simple gold band like the description of the One Ring in the Red Book. He asked her, “Do you know of a jeweler who can fashion a ring like his?”

“I do.”

Nag Kath placed a gold Florin in her hand and said, “It is better that you place the commission. I will take lodgings in the town and return as my plans develop. Will you help me set a trap for the spy?”

That netted a better smile, “Oh yes.”

_____________------_____________

Chûran visited the jeweler the next morning. He was not the most prestigious but he was discreet. That mattered in a land where a woman’s jewelry was her future. A plain ring like this should pose no trouble. She even brought a ring her master wore on the same finger of his other hand for sizing. It would not take that much gold so the craftsman’s payment would be what was left of the coin. It should be ready to inspect in two days.

Nag Kath took a room in a different inn nearer to the spy. He was not a Visitor. His sympathies were for hire. Ureano was a merchant. Part of his inventory was secrets. He plied the road from Eastern Khand to Eastern Mordor. In that luckless land, the power, army and orcs had always been concentrated on the Gondor side. Out here they grew the food and made the weapons. By some astonishing piece of luck, the Nûrnen had edible fish, though the water was foul tasting. Sauron allowed rain to fall and sun to shine for grain to feed his troops.

Here in Khand, rulers had their own plans. Having avoided sending every soldier to the fiasco on the Pelennor, Khanate borders were largely as drawn centuries before. Men like Ureano knew what people wanted.

Nag Kath was slightly surprised that the High Khagan of Upper Khand had no political connections in Mordor. Traders like Ureano were a good way to send discreet messages and it was understood that the man would share any hostile intentions towards Khagan Yigresh, that or large soldiers would see how long his innards stretched. Both sides played to win.

The Elf kept an eye on the merchant’s home but he was not there. A servant left to market with a shadow as he visited the different stalls. The man got very little food suggesting he did not have to prepare anything for a returning master that day. When he stopped for tea and a pipe, Nag Kath had a look around Ureano’s house. It never hurts to know what kind of spices someone likes. A woman came in with her own key so it was a short visit.

Nag Kath took the long way to see Chûran the next day. He was not followed. The maid received him and he was shown a taller chair with hot tea coming. The woman herself was in the food preparation area. Like all better homes, the cook stove was outside and everything else for meals was done just inside. 

She seemed more relaxed, though her movements were still deliberate and exact. Were those the motions of a slave who must never disappoint? “I have ordered the ring. It should be ready to view tomorrow, Mr. Kash.”

“Just Nag Kath.”

“Just Nag Kash.” Her common tongue was fair but there are some sounds not all Khandian speakers master. Chûran’s accent was a mix of western Khand and the Plainstongue of the unfortunate men who lived in Eastern Mordor.

He was gentle, “I need to ask some very specific questions. If you feel they are too personal, let me know.”

She touched her lips with the delicate cloth, “Nag Kash, I have nothing personal. I find solace, that is the word, solace?, in right-living. I am not always worthy. You ask what you must know and I will tell, yes?”

The Elf was touched. He started slowly, “Tell me what powers the ring gives him, oh, and what is his title?”

“He is called many things but Assured is shortest. He uses the ring for cruelty and to make examples. I left only two years after it came to him so there may be other uses now. I think not. He is a simple man." 

Again she touched the napkin to her inviting lips, “He can give pain. He can make himself seem larger, except where, well, that is not important to you. His voice can be made low and loud and shake men’s ears. I have heard from someone in a position to know that he also ages slowly, looks like he did when I left, like your, uhmm …” She pantomimed sketching. “That is not the way of Herduiq men. The person also said he has grown heavier. That is also not their way.”

Nag Kath asked, “May I call you Chûran? I do not know how to address women in your land.”

She said demurely, “That is fine.” Brightening, “It is a pretty name. My sister was not so fortunate.”

“Yes, pretty. How does the ring affect the people around him?”

“They fear it. No, they fear him. The ring is now the man. There is also something strange. Chûran knitted her delicate brows slightly, “Nulvanash was never wanting of possessions, power always, but not things. Since he wears the ring, he wants only gold.”

Nag Kath’s face slowly broke into his notorious grin. That became a belly-laugh. Chûran was shocked at first but then realized it was not something she had done wrong. She folded her hands in her lap and waited until her guest was composed. “This is good, yes?”

“I think so.”

__________------_________

He rode back to the retreat that afternoon. Several times along the way, he broke into gales of laughter that even had Charlo concerned. Gandalf told him the nine rings of men were all in Sauron’s possession after the Nazgul were enslaved. Either they were destroyed with him or lay under ten thousand tons of rubble at Barad Dûr. The three Elf rings were safe. Gandalf let him wear Narya in Orthanc once. The old wizard said it was slowly losing its power. He planned to return it to Lord Cirdan when he left.

But there were seven Dwarf rings. The legend goes that four were incinerated by fire-drakes in their wars on the mining kingdoms. Another probably fell into Sauron’s hands through Thorin Oakenshield’s father during his imprisonment. Two were unaccounted for, maybe more if the dragon yarn was spun drinking ale. 

Love of gold and getting fat? The Assured had a Dwarf ring! Nag Kath never asked what those did. The rings of men gave them great powers, an addiction that brought them to the dark lord like lambs to the slaughter. Dwarves were said to be unaffected by Sauron’s call because they are so contrary and hard to instruct. They did get greedier which led their bearers to ruin none the less. All of the rings were made for specific peoples. A man with a Dwarf ring would have limited sorcery and might still become a wraith like the Smeagol creature. Perhaps he would just live a long time as Sauron’s remaining rings slowly cooled.

Nag Kath was in a good mood when he took Charlo to the stable. The next morning he asked to speak to Mr. Sûhl of the braided hair and beard privately and to Misters Tan and Brown together. Then he wanted a word with Nenwûla of the Viersh.

Sûhl, no Mister needed, was feeding birds near the larger pond. Nag Kath sat next to him. One of his flock was a duu crow, called crebains among the Elves. Those were the birds Saruman used. It might be several lives of men before he did not think of them as messengers. He asked, “When you saw the picture of Orlo you remembered something.”

“I thought so, but it was not there.”

“All people see something familiar at first but then it fades. I think it is because everyone sees him in their own way, as he wants to appear or as we imagine him.”

The man looked at the Elf and then back to the birds waiting for stale loaves. He crushed a handful and tossed it. “That is possible. You are the first sorcerer I have known as such.”

Nag Kath continued, “In your learning and travels, has there ever been a friend to your order, or people like you going back to olden times, someone who appeared at need or at just the right time?”

“Many times, I should think. Most were known then or stayed to become known. Right thinking has come and gone for hundreds of years at a time. Something brings it back. You are thinking more of a person who came and went?”

“Yes, like a rainstorm in fire. He may have led men against a foe when hope was lost.”

“Let me think about that, young man. I will ask the others. May I see your picture again?” Nag Kath took it from a front pouch. “Hmmm, it is a wise face that seems to be hiding a jest. I will also consider those I have met only once but deserve remembrance.”

Sûhl had another stale loaf to crumble so the Elf left him to it and visited the Misters. 

“How were your conversations with the Lady, Nag Kath?”

“Productive, Choran, and humbling. I see in her and in all of you just how spoiled I am. Men should be humble. Did you have a chance to make inquiries?”

Khilestrû answered, “We did. Answers will take longer. There is word that Hurm Rydovosh to the Visitors’ south has been making trouble for them. Nulvanash will have spies stirring foment among his men and among Aômul’s men above the Nûrnen. It may keep him busy.”

Nag Kath said, “I will often have questions that no sane person would ask but I have my reasons. Has there ever been a legend of a gold hoard inside Mordor? If not, somewhere nearby?”

The men looked at each other and decided the Elf was not a treasure hunter. Zielthir answered, “Now that you mention it, Sauron was said to have a trove well away from his tower, absurd when you think about it because Barad Dûr was where he kept everything else. Most of that burned to ash in the reckoning. No gold was found.”

Nenwûla had just finished pummeling a poor man to jelly when Nag Kath rounded the corner. Hanvas Tûr was ostensibly a place of healing. There were physical healers like Nenwûla and those who dealt in herbs and diet. Others were counselors for men and women who could not forget the horrors of this sorry land. Those were fading now that Khand was stabilizing, but people still woke gasping in the night. Since most folk would not travel for such remedies, the retreat was known but ignored. Not all who came sought right-living. 

She put a towel over her shoulder and walked to him as he said, “Good day Nenwûla of the Viersh.”

“And you, best of sirs.”

“Please, tell me of your training in herbs.”

The pummeled man was her last patient so they wandered to where they had sat before. The woman told him of the local weeds and roots and what they did.

He was looking for something worse. “Have you any skill with spells and herbs combined?”

Repeating her catechism, “Those are not used for healing.”

“I know.”

Oh! This was distressing! The woman had shown inductive healing skills in her youth. Mother kept those buried. With her brawn and sensitivity, she might be accepted at the Sisters of Viersh. Those skills paid with copper, not with swords! Mother was gone and she had completed her training. Occasionally she would heal by induction now. 

What this creature suggested was witchcraft! What possible right-living comes of that? But he was a witch, if the story of him soaking Shelturn was half true. Would she be drawn into fell sorcery and lose all? Oh dear! He was here at the invitation of the Ghurate so she would listen first.

The Elf saw her consternation. No good had ever come from what he contemplated. How was this different? “I see your trouble. I want to know if you have ever used a binding spell on common foods or spices?”

That was a relatively simple answer; she hadn’t and didn’t know how. Nag Kath gave a quick-list list of foods found in Dale. None came to mind but it may be because of the name rather than the plant. She would look. Nenwûla was still upset. Nag Kath had some right-living of his own to do, “I am sorry for disturbing you. And I know that such things are very hard for dreams of a family.”

The big woman was even more distraught. “I do not have such troubles, Nag Kash. I was sent to the Sisters because I am large. Men of these lands like their women small and slender. What man would look at me with tender eyes?”

The Elf sincerely said, “I should think any man would be proud to be your husband, that you would comfort him and ease the pain of his honest labors with love.”

No one had ever said such things to Nenwûla of the Viersh. 

When her face stopped looking like she would cry he added, “Do not think so meanly of yourself. Not all men are shallow and vain. Probably some here today can see the truth of that. Do not be troubled by my questions, but if you discover any of the things I seek are the same by the names you call them, you can help.”

Nenwûla fought through to smile and said she would try. He wondered if the smiling Northman Richas Tolvern had a sore neck. He was getting as bad as Tal! 

There was one last question, “When you saw the picture of Orlo, did you remember him?”

“I thought so, but no. For a moment he reminded me of Talag Usuh, a respected councilman of my village. It was he who suggested I come here after my training. But honored Usuh is a much younger man … and still has all his hair.”

“Thank you again, Nenwûla of the Viersh.”

__________------_________

After another day of plotting, Nag Kath rode back to Lhûg. Chûran’s maid had found him rooms by the month from a man who owned several apartments. Inns were public with obvious doors and people noticing at all hours. His place had two rooms, neither big, and the lock could be picked with a piece of wire. It did have a vacant apartment across the hall. Nag Kath slipped in and unlocked the window in case he needed another way in or out.

Chûran opened the door herself as the maid was marketing at this time of day. She had new colors draped around her and for the first time, he saw her feet in slippers with a clever cord separating her big toe from the others. 

She opened a clean white cloth to reveal a gold ring. Chûran had the jeweler add more mass to the piece. That cut into his profit but it needed to be a specific size. The new casting had not been ready until this morning. Nag Kath could not know if the Visitor’s ring had visible runes inside the band.

It was hard to tell if the mysterious woman was enjoying this. She seemed more alive than in the dour meeting. She smiled. Her face was no longer the mask of perfection it must have been but she was still beautiful. The Elf did wonder if she was helping in righteousness or if she wanted to see her former master suffer. The first was admirable. The second could only lead to bitterness. She did not say. He did not ask.

Ureano was back. He spent the afternoon unloading two donkeys at a tinsmith and counting his groats. Ureano worked for cash or barter. He returned home for dinner and then left in good light to a tavern and smoking hall in the better district. It was hard for a tall, pale blonde to lurk unobserved but he did see the man greet an assortment of acquaintances before sitting with another businessman. The Elf burned both men’s faces into his mind to draw later. 

The idea quickening in his mind would take a while to develop so he needed to find an excuse for being here.

Until yesterday, he thought of the Visitors as a wandering sect with a central hive. If so, the beating they took on both sides of the Celduin would lose the ears of practical villains seeking an advantage. The council explained this Nulvanash fellow was a powerful warlord with a standing army to protect some of the best grain-land in Mordor. He was already the leader of his district when he came by the ring and used it to consolidate the lands between the lower two rivers of the delta. Friends of friends put it at fifteen hundred foot and two hundred fifty cavalry terrorizing about five thousand inhabitants. 

It was not perfect, though. Aômul was Hurm (Ruler) of the Nûrn lands between the middle and upper rivers and most of the north coast of the huge lake. That meant he also controlled the east/west road. Scant trade was allowed after the Hurm sent back the heads of three Visitors in a crate of whisker-fish.

Then there was Nargil. That realm was between the next two drinkable rivers on the southern bank with the southern road into Khand. There was also a low pass to Harad for trade and an escape route if Hurm Ryduvosh was squeezed hard enough – the same pass the armies of Harad used to reach Barad Dûr. Nulvanash had hostile neighbors north and south with nothing but desert as far west as the mountains.

Nag Kath asked about hereditary and blood relations between the tyrants. Mr. Tan smiled before saying, “No, and that is the problem. Men of that land were slaves, some higher than others but all borne of cruelty and fear. One day, all the orc masters dropped dead leaving the food for those willing to take it. Having never known better, the most vicious rose to the top. Here in Khand, we were allies and paid our tribute to Sauron but were too far away with too few places for orcs to hide. The families who ran things still do, for the most part. In Mordor, rulers come and go in blood and fire, as they always have. 

“And that, Nag Kath, is the difference. Those here and in the Rhûn would make our lands a home because we have always wanted that, in spite of the foulest sorceries. In Mordor, they know no better. And now Nulvanash has gained an ancient power and seeks to wield it. You see our concern.”

The Elf understood all too well. He asked, “Tell me, wise council, does the Assured have any friends?”

“The man of Harad said, “Certainly not, but Brulthed of the east sea seeks primacy over his neighbors just as Nulvanash succeeded in the west.” He spoke to the young man to test his wording, which seemed fairly good to the Nag Kath’s ears. “His district has Visitors openly in their midst. If Nulvanash takes all of the Nûrnen, he can only look our way as Sauron did to hauvshu … mmmm … calamity.” The man took a long pull of cool tea and continued, “In my lands, several of the Chelkar satrapies have his poison in their ears. The Hûk is old and his son is not clever, so men look to themselves. Visitors get there over the pass at Kupshe.”

Now he had to ask the opposite question, “Who are our friends and what kind of army can be raised?”

Khilestu said grimly, “There is where we fail you, Nag Kath. No ruler here, there or below lives right. We have men among soldiers and merchants and farmers but cannot raise a force. Tribal rulers will fight against their like but no one cares about the Yvsuldor spies unless it threatens them. Even when men fear that ring, they are not scared enough to join together and risk their own skins.”

The Elf held his chin in his hand until the silence was almost crushing. Then he slowly said, “I apologize to you all. I have thought only of myself. Somehow I placed myself above all others. My coming was to deal with those trying to harness dark powers again and I did not consider you. Through arrogance I have your ear but I have not bent mine to hear what you seek for yourselves. That has cost me dear before. Would each of you tell me the world you want?”

Nenwûla went first, “I want children not to cringe when they hear hooves.”

Sûhl said, “I would not have women taken. Wives are friends.

The young man, whose name was Prentivand, said, “I would see a man keep what he earns. Yes, there must be tax, but if he grows or makes or takes fish from the sea, it is his.”

Mr. Tan was next around the table. All could see he was thinking and the right-living people let him speak in his own time. The man licked his lips and said, “Want is a two-edged sword. I agree with young Prentivand that a man should keep what he earns. But that must not apply to taking what others have. That is not earned. It feeds into how Mordor seethes and grows and festers!” The man’s blood was high. 

Chûran was not here. She was a witness and not of the council. The Haradrim who came to the second meeting said, “I say as the others, lo I fear that right-living will not contain this plague.”

It was finally Khilestu’s turn, “I would see all of this but never will if we do not strangle the Yvsuldor in its crib. Nulvanash does not grow old. He will wear down his neighbors and then come for all the world. I am not here for what I want. I am here for what we need, and I would rather die fighting than begging for mercy. Nag Kath, what do you need?”

The next day they would meet again to discuss bringing men and means to bear. Nag Kath decided to keep what he thought he knew about the ring to himself for now. He would hold ‘The Fast’ in reserve too. No one here should rely on that. 

After the meeting, he sought Shelturn. The man was at the stable replacing a bridle strap that had frayed. He looked up as the Elf sat next to him on a straw bale but then looked back at his work, saying nothing. Nag Kath started, “I am sorry about the pond.”

The man concentrated on forcing the leather through the ring. A minute later it was far enough in that it would not slip. Then he said without looking up again, “I suppose I should thank you for not drowning me.”

“That was not a risk. I needed to get their attention and you were the toughest man I could find, except maybe for a big Northman here for Gelansor.”

That was a joke. Shelturn tried not to smile but eventually failed. “I have seen him. Good man in a scrap, I’ll wager.”

Nag Kath said, “I am going to need good men in a scrap. I also need a soldier who understands such things. Can we shake hands and work in fellowship?”

The bridle was ready to be stitched. Shelturn finally looked at the Elf and reached his hand. “Aye, I can do that.” He shook his head and got the same small smile again. “Most here are Teüchir, learned ones. Three in ten are women. Some men have borne arms but that pays better than many things so men seldom leave soldiery by walking.”

Nag Kath considered carefully before saying, “I was born a soldier. We never really walk away.”

The next day in council was for organizing. He asked what skills those of right-living had here and in their sister retreat in the north. Shelturn would be his chief of staff. The maps they found were in a sorry state so a man was deputized to combine the little ones into one large one that could lie on a table. He told them he had about fifty Florin squirreled in his gear. That was a boggling sum in the shadow of Mordor. Khans probably had that much in pocket money but they did not share.

Nag Kath could not stay here. He was unique and people would notice him riding the magnificent horse from the city to nowhere and back. He decided he would hide in plain site. It was time to use the Bror’s little ring. 


	26. Pulling the Strings

**_Chapter 26_ **

**_Pulling the Strings_ **

Emond tûl Yigresh, Khagan of Upper Khand, wiped his lips with a pristine cotton cloth and dropped it on the floor. It would be used again, but not by him. The lamb had been prepared properly. He nodded to the servers who removed the assorted plates, bowls and goblets in moments. Then he rose and walked down the hall to his private study. 

His Vishtuun was standing by the desk. The Khagan nodded and the man sat. Yigresh was not as staid as his famous grandfather who made all in his presence stand. He didn’t like looking up at them. The Vishtuun summarized the day’s agenda which included meeting with the Purse, a pair of Khans who could not agree on a parcel of land left on the other side of a stream after it changed course in a storm and the disposition of a concubine of second son who had not conceived. It was a light schedule. The Vishtuun pulled an elegant letter from his folio, “Something new, Excellency. The Bror of Rhûn has been in contact. He offers to send an emissary and retinue to pay their respects in hopes of discussing subjects of mutual benefit.”

Yigresh himself wondered that they might have more to do with each other. The world had changed. This was the age of large countries. His was a large country. District satraps paid obeisance but they were notoriously independent. That was fine until someone like Dulgov pointed all his shaggy horses south now that he didn’t need them defending against his new friend the Elessar. A Rhûnic army would have starved coming here without his revered fathers lifting a finger, but with the Dark Lord gone, more rain created enough forage to reach the desert unless he burned it. And now the new Bror, a man his own age with grown sons, recently disposed of a brother who thought too highly of himself. Yes, we know such things down here. The usurper had Visitors in his ranks too. 

Yes, Visitors! Mordor was the bigger problem. Those barbarians could not be reasoned with. They knew nothing of governance. More to the point, they had not respected his rule! Sending Nulvanash’s agitators back wrapped in drying rawhide should have made his point but the despot had not seen the error of his ways. 

Yigresh looked at his Vishtuun and asked, “What does his Excellency have in mind?”

His man reported, “The letter simply read that a small contingent would visit to ask your Lordship’s views on closer relations. It was delivered by an advance rider with the correct seal for an emissary and his retainers now wait on the border for your Excellency’s approval.”

“Yes, let us hear what they have to say. Return the concubine to her family.” 

His exquisite capital of Ûbésêsh was nestled in the lee of the Ephel Duath’s southern tail. It compared with fabled Elvish cities of yore, much more interesting than the utilitarian kingdoms of the west. The former capital was in the deep desert but when Sauron’s power was complete, it became too hot and dry. This had been and still was the better Khaganate. The south was getting more rain too but only slightly. They also had smaller districts and poorer roads, little wonder Sauron never conscripted many. That was old news now. He walked into his receiving room to hear the complaint of land across some stream.

A month later, the modest retinue of the Broric Emissary arrived in Ûbésêsh. They rode the familiar woolly horses of the Easterlings except one with what must be a stolen Rohan mount. Their advance man purchased a modest compound near the river wall. This being only the Ambassador’s representative, he would see to property commensurate with higher station if closer relations were to the Khagan’s liking. Vishtuun Juegesh arranged for the man and two of his aides to visit the palace for lunch after the Observance of Wind and Sky three days hence. It would give them time to make themselves presentable.

The grandees arrived with no fanfare. The representative was a man of about forty and five, dressed in the fashion of Northmen after stewing in needless furs. With him were his secretary and a tall young northerling with typical dark, braided hair. This one had no beard, probably one of their mountain lads who shaved his face rather than display unmanly wisps. He cut his chin before coming.

They were shown before the Khagan in his receiving room and adjourned to a modest table for them and four of his Excellency’s men. After introductions and compliments, Juguesh asked the representative to explain the purpose of his visit. In passable Variag, Captain Lurgsh said, “Thank you for your warm welcome, Oh Khagan of these noble lands. It is the hope of northern peoples that we can consult more often on matters that affect our new, wider world.”

Yigresh nodded congenially and replied, “We thank you as well for your long, hard journey. I welcome you on behalf of my people. Vishtuun Juegesh will act for me in preliminary matters that you might take back to honored Brother King Dulgov. I look forward to your progress." All rose with the Khagan and sat down after he left the room. 

Captain Lurgsh and the Vishtuun exchanged a single page of topics to be considered in four days time and adjourned after an excellent lunch of lamb, succulents and fruits. No alcohol was served, it still being light outside.

The Easterlings rode back to their quarters and handed their mounts to a groom waiting by the gate. Strangely, there were only eight people in the retinue, including a cook and the groom. No local people were retained. Everyone knew the Bror, like his father before him, was frugal, to put it charitably. Hopefully an official ambassador would have a more appropriate staff. Right-living was tested early when the Vishtuun offered women to make the men comfortable after their constraining journey. The intemperate Rhûns might appreciate the young lovelies of Khand. Such females had to be raised gently, not plucked from the dirt like turnips. 

Captain Lurgsh, hung his hat on a peg by the door and said, “I am starting to think this might just work."

Shelturn had been waiting for the three. Looking out of the real glass window he added, “Well, we got here. Pretty place. I had no idea.”

Nag Kath looked out the same window and said, “It is nice. I wish I spoke more of their tongue. This Juguesh, he is a chamberlain in my parlance?”

“That but also a family retainer. Sulath thinks he will be impossible to bribe. He is probably a relative too distant to claim lordship but too close to survive a coup.”

The three men were joined by another and sat around the low table. Captain Lurgsh was actually Teüchir (Lorist) Lurgsh from Yhammâs Fruhir. He had been a corporal for two border skirmishes before tutoring waking rest for those who suffered injuries of spirit. The Bror’s ring fit his third finger. They all hoped Dulgov would agree this was in a good cause, should it come to his attention. 

The third member at the palace and secretary of the visitation was Doruk Hennipas of Kelepar. He was forty eight and had been a government agent to the horse region before right-living found him. Hennipas arranged the Rhûnic horses and tack along with suitable clothing but his main purpose for being here was understanding something of Dulgov's administration.

The other four men were runners who could shuttle into the wilds if needed. There were two agents already working quietly in Ûbésêsh. They had been here for years. The Ghurate took a great risk in making them available for this effort. Both Sulath and Delemantêsh were ordinary merchants by day, selling embroidered cloth and rope respectively. They would never visit the embassy. And they knew who everyone was in town. 

_____________------_____________

Nag Kath wondered that there really wasn’t an original idea in the plan. Western nations had exchanged ambassadors since the Elven Kingdoms. In the Sauronic world, those roles were filled by dark servants like the Yvsuldor and Worm Tongue or creatures who had considerable power of their own like the Nazgûl. When Sauron fell, native populations thought of creative ways to repay the dark lord’s minions, but they did not replace them with embassies. The typical way to parlay without bloodshed was to meet at a border and leave if they could. There were still plenty of spies; independents like Ureano or dedicated men. The Bror would have eyes down here as well. If the Righters were discovered, the Bror’s lads might have to be silenced, baffled or open to a comfortable retirement. Delemantêsh knew of one who fell firmly into the last category.

If Delemantêsh knew friends, Sulath knew Visitors. Sulath was the sort of man you would want behind you, larger than your average Khandian with a face no one remembered. He watched two Visitors closely; one was Lieutenant Nen in the Khagan’s Blood Lancers. He earned the commission by being a hard, ruthless soldier, indistinguishable from his real employment. Lately he had been in charge of Second Son’s escort so he was not in the city for weeks at a stretch. Second Son, the presumptive heir, seemed the royal most open to persuasion by the men of the Assured.

The other Visitor was more senior. Zrev dated back to Nulvanash’s ascendance and was rumored to wield small sorcery of his own. The man had no visible means of support and lived well in a private home in the garden sector. Zrev had a pair of retainers who people avoided when they walked the streets. Despite his station, Sulath thought he might be getting soft on dark summoning after living in the capital. If he thought that, Lieutenant Nen would too. Nen had his own career to consider.

_____________------_____________

Ûbésêsh was the most convenient base of operations. It was the largest city in the east at thirty thousand and quite astonishing, even by western comparison. Unlike much of the country, it benefited by strong rivers flowing from the mountains separating them from Mordor. Fountains and flowers and things unheard-of just to the west benefited those who deserved them. They saw no need to share them with the cross-eyed Mordorans. 

That worked well for the Righters too. This was closer to Nulvanash’s capital than Lhûg. Small commerce flowed both ways. That could include accurate or misleading information, depending on the need. Upper Khand was the only country besides Gondor that minted their own money. Numenorean-style coins worked just as well but the local merchants had been quietly exchanging some of Nag Kath’s Florins into small local sizes that would not attract attention.

The Variag capital also gave Nag Kath a backdoor to the Nargil river which kept them from having to take the northern route into Mordor past warlords fighting for control of the western deltas. More importantly, the gap at Khûr Khand led to the land of Hûrm Ryduvosh. He was Nulvanash’s southern neighbor and most powerful adversary. The Nargil River formed the border between Nulvanash and Ryduvosh and also poured a great deal of clean water into the bitter Nûrnen Sea. Neither of them could bring large numbers of troops into the other’s land without boats and trees were scarce.

Before talks got very far between the northerners and Khandians, Captain Lurgsh claimed a mystery ailment of the digestion and was indisposed. Juegesh was in no hurry and had to leave with his Excellency in a week for his annual trip to the Temple of Kondri Hochi. He would be gone a month. The Righters knew that. 

Nag Kath and Shelturn slipped out the main gate the day after their leader’s distress and made southwest along the southern edge of the Ephel Duath pincer. The Elf was surprised at how green it was. They could see nothing but brown to their left but along the slopes was good grazing and thirty-year old trees fighting for light. If their path held, they would reach the town of Fich Shon in two days. To the right was the low pass into Mordor, the easternmost gap in the range. Their road was to continue along the south on the border of Harad with plans to cross at the Nargil Pass.

Both riders wore soldier’s clothes. There were no uniforms here. In their bags were an assortment of patches for local militias if needed. Shelturn was mixed blood of Rhûn and Khand’s vast ill-defined border. He spoke the northerly Variag dialect so they usually bore the swatch of Khagan Yigresh’s capital troops, knowing full well if they were challenged, they would not get away by talking. 

After making-up for the dunking, the two got along well and discussed many things on their ride. Both knew little of each other’s world. Nag Kath did more of the talking because he had traveled a great deal of the west and the Dark Lord crushed as much local history as he could. Men from here knew far less of their heritage than westerlings. Much of the time was spent drilling the Elf in Variag since he might need a lot of it soon. 

For his part, Shelturn shared his layman’s knowledge of right-living, which seemed closer to Nenwûla’s than Orlo’s. The man had served the current Bror’s father as a Lieutenant of Infantry and later of cavalry as the Puklak horses were bred in numbers. A bad fall led to a slow recovery and he was replaced. He might have applied for another commission but had had enough of taking farmers’ food while waiting for the next war. When his brother’s widow confided that she felt better for gentler gods, he listened.

It was a good thing they rode well together because this would be a long trip. Their road took another ten days along the forest edge until they reached a small river that would become the Chelkar flowing west at Bogath, a hardened frontier town on the Swerting border. If Nag Kath ever wondered what had happened to all the bugs that weren’t in inns to the west, he found them. The travelers nibbled their Lembas and had a mug of the local yellow beer, not a good match. From there it was another three days into Harad to cut the corner to a place called Ankaradan’s Lair on a river leading from some of the tallest peaks in the chain. Neither Ankaradan nor anyone else was here. It was one of the few passes where Haradrim in their thousands crossed into Mordor proper

This was the last stretch before skirting the southern range and making for the Nargil Pass. The grade reminded Nag Kath of the High Pass over the Mistys. They kept east of the Nargil River to avoid Nulvanash’s lands. A month to the day after leaving the Khagan’s capital, they stepped into the lands of Hurm Ryduvosh’s at the village of Kûl Tarkorûl.

Villagers scuttled into their homes or behind anything they could find when the two riders walked their horses along the trail. Since there were no soldiers, the Righters decided to take the afternoon at ease. Nag Kath found the local fish knew nothing of disguised hooks and he landed three big ones in a matter of minutes. They made camp and let the animals graze. 

A girl-child of about six had not been hustled into hiding and walked out to join the travelers on the river bank. Shelturn gave her a piece of Lembas bread. The lass reminded Nag Kath of Mirias, the miner’s daughter in Orthanc with a mop of dark curly hair and pale skin. She said nothing but nibbled her treat and did not run away. Nag Kath asked her name. She did not understand. Shelturn tried in Plainstongue and she said it was Gulda. 

Her parents had been frantically looking and saw her in the worst of all possible places; with soldiers. They had older children and should consider their safety before rescuing the baby. In the end, they came out to claim her. Her father called her from about fifty feet away but the child was much too interested in the cake. At thirty feet she heard him and turned still holding her Lembas with both hands. Finally the man came close, bowing and muttering obeisance. It took great bravery to overcome great fear. Shelturn pointed to the fish. The man took one in one hand and his daughter in the other back to his terrified wife.

So that is what it is to live in Mordor. Was the man’s courage the future of this land or was the terror? Probably both. 

With everyone fed, they worked their way northeast hugging the peaks. Another day’s ride would take them to Hurm Ryduvosh’s capital of Nargil. That was not the goal. Nag Kath was looking for somewhere obviously in the man’s domain where Nulvanash had never been. It took a day of sniffing but he found it. In these mountains were bred many of Sauron’s large draft-trolls, the older beasts that could not stand any daylight. Erosion of softer rock over the ages created natural tunnels and caves that ran deep enough to protect against deadly sun. He found a second cave to visit later.

Compared to the trolls above the Iron Hills Road, these lads were paupers. There was nothing they could have stolen in their day except gureeq and the occasional peasant for roasting. Shelturn lit a torch and they walked inside. It was just waste and bones. The Elf left several Florin worth of his oldest nippers and a silver goblet he bought in Ûbésêsh with a jewel from his original cache. The coins would be easily found if someone was seriously looking.

The cave was ten miles inside Ryduvosh’s territory, the perfect risk for the gold-obsessed Nulvanash thinking he had found Sauron’s hoard. All he need do was claim it, quietly if possible, by force if not. Nag Kath had plans for that.

It seemed an awfully long trip just to salt the mine but pure fantasy would not create the necessary lust. The Elf spent the rest of the day sketching every rock for a quarter mile along the southwestern face of the crags. The next morning, Nag Kath placed the jewel Thorin Stonehelm gave him a few years before just inside the second cave and stood over it for half an hour. Shelturn saw him turn silver in color and glow with a fierce light for a few minutes before the black-braided Elf trudged back to camp. That was the first night Shelturn saw him sleep.

The trip back was like the trip there except they knew places to avoid. At the pass town of Fruud just inside Khand, two soldiers sauntered over trying to act important. It would be a shame to draw attention to themselves so close to their headquarters but soldiers with bad attitudes came with the territory. The uglier of them said something in Variag.

Shelturn said in the same tongue, “We are returning to the capital after taking a message to Vhir of Ala-Khand.”

He would tell the Elf afterwards that the man challenged, “Then you will have no trouble producing your pass.” Shelturn scratched his chin, the signal for trouble. The few people around had vanished. Just before the right-doing soldier pulled his sword, a shaft of pale yellow light shone from Nag Kath’s left hand into the faces of the soldiers. He murmured, “You need to tell them things are fine and that we are leaving." Shelturn did so. As the soldiers looked blankly at each other, the Righters climbed on their horses and rode at a good clip for an hour before slowing to their usual pace. 

It was only then the Shelturn said, “I wish I could have done that to my sister.”

_____________------____________

It was now late fall. Folk of wetter climes do not all understand that deserts are not always hot at night, especially in the lee of the mountains. Temperatures vary widely from sun to dawn. Well bundled, they rode to within a block of their compound in the Khagan’s capital and tied the horses in front of a tavern. Nag Kath stayed with them as Shelturn quietly walked to the back gate and whistled. He got the right whistle back and retrieved the Elf and horses.

Things had gone well on this end. The restored Representative Lurgsh met twice with the Vishtuun to discuss issues of trade and troop-strength on their patchwork borders. Lurgsh had no opinions, and didn’t even know about the various side-agreements among the border satraps. He neither demanded nor ceded lands, explaining that was the Ambassador’s and, ultimately, the Bror’s prerogative. He was only here to show good faith. There were also vague aspirations of creating permanent embassies in each capital.

The pace would have maddened even the patient Nag Kath, but this was brisk among southern peoples. Forms had to be observed. There were constant rituals honoring the fallen, the gods and, of course, the Khagan. The Khagan’s second son was in the city, he of the barren concubine, and the mood in the market was that it wasn’t her fault. He came to one of the meetings and left bored. 

Back at the embassy, Nag Kath felt it was time to spill the lentils. He explained his theory about the Dwarf ring. To his surprise, only Lurgsh knew anything about rings of power. The Elf had Gandalf’s own knowledge of their fate, but it wasn’t that much different than what most free-peoples knew if they cared. Here; there was only oppressive power. How could its source matter? It took several hours of explaining and answering until the men realized they had a dragon card still face down in their pile. The lure of gold would be irresistible to the Assured. Everything depended on the age-old saying, ‘You can’t cheat an honest man’. Fortunately, everyone on the other side was thoroughly corrupt.

Nag Kath’s plan was to create the impression that men of the Bror’s contingent were investigating knowledge of Sauron’s hidden trove from years of scholarship and recently uncovered documents along the Rhûn after defeating Frunzar. One of the Nazgûl, possibly the Easterling Khamûl, had protected the treasure in troll caves along the southern Ephel range near the Nargil River. Wards against their detection were fading. The first sorcerer to defeat them would reign supreme. 

The Elf thought to leave a little honey here and a little bile there until Nulvanash sent a troop into the wilds to verify claims. They would find the cave that had already been plundered leaving proof of riches. They could not enter the larger one secured with fouler spells. He hoped his confusion ward on a genuine Dwarvish artifact would hold until spring. That was the bait waiting for a man of vision.

Finding all of this could not be too easy. A suspicious man would smell the trap. Hints of the prize would trickle to Nulvanash’s capital Ûniarra Nûrn from previously reliable sources. The man would have no trouble sending a troop across the river to find the coins but the Assured would need to counter the wards of the larger cave himself.

Nag Kath counterfeited a crude treasure map on his cheapest, oldest paper. It took several tries to convert his accurate pictures of the hills to rough versions that were still identifiable. For the text; he spoke Black Speech but had no idea how to write it so he butchered enough Sindarin to make the points and drew the letters in the old style Frodo sketched of the heated ring in the Red Book. The map was a place mat on the dining table to spill tea and stew on for authenticity. With all of the twists and turns, the hope was that the Assured would have to return to Hurm Ryduvosh’s lands, in force, in mid-summer after the Hurm was alerted. Operative Sullath made sure Rydovosh's local spy heard Nulvanash might be coming, but not why.

It was time for Captain Lurgsh to conclude preliminary diplomacy and return to the Rhûn for consultations. He, Hennipas and Nag Kath went to see the Vishtuun one last time for a farewell lunch after Delemantesh’s wife re-blackened Nag Kath’s tan hair roots. The meal was served in a hall Lurgsh hadn’t seen before in the extraordinary palace. Rooms all around it were done in white marble surrounding exquisite mosaics on the floors. The walls of the reception room were decorated with the elegant writings of ancient times. It seemed the actual writing of them was as important as the message. 

Nag Kath stood in front of one for a long time before they left. Vishtuun Juegesh and Lurgsh joined him examining a pristine piece of vellum with the large first letter of a word done in their ornate style. That was it. The steward explained that it had been drawn so perfectly that the calligrapher dared not complete the work lest the rest be unworthy. The tall Northman thanked him in his harsh tongue and thought of the Elf artist Danethiur knowing when to stop. 

Captain Lurgsh told the proud Vishtuun that they would maintain the home here in Ûbésêsh if his Excellency had questions or suggestions. The three representatives returned to the embassy and two days later they and Shelturn left to report to the rightful Bror Dulgov.

_____________------____________

Following their own footsteps, they made Lhûg just before December. It was still warm when the sun shined but the men of Northern Khand and the Rhûn wore their furs. The party made their way to the retreat to explain the state of play and Nag Kath rode back to town two days later for a word with Chûran.

After he was admitted, she walked down her stairs and offered her hands to be kissed. That was a first. Her maid served and became scarce. Did Chûran take lovers? He hoped so, for her sake. This was all business. A pretense had to be created for the spy to report the merest supposition that great lords had designs on Sauron’s hidden treasure, warded by sorcery, at the headwaters of the Nargil. The instigators were Easterlings who had just visited the Khagan, so, presumably, he was in on the plot. Their ears in the capital could not confirm it because the Khagan knew nothing of the sort, but that would not stop tongues from wagging.

Vibrant Flower, Ureano’s mistress, showed the long years of her trade and a fondness for Rhûnic wine. It did not take much silver to pass a story along. The spy also had an informer in his ranks called Chigurn who kept his ear to the ground. The flower explained the two men had a falling-out recently. Destroying the Visitors would start at the down-and-out Chigurn’s favorite tavern the next time he came by a few coppers.

A drunken soldier wandered his way, first sitting and then laying on a merchant’s porch. By the time Chigurn reached him, the man was snoring like a Dwarf. Practiced fingers retrieved three fivers from the fellow’s pocket. However could they pay these simpletons so much? The brute probably leaned on honest people and it served him right to return the money to those he oppressed!

When Chigurn arrived, Corporal Lurgsh and Grend Keldan of the retreat were dealing a new hand of Intur, the two-player version of Dukks. The little thief was a known card cheat. Reputable houses tossed him in the street. Others took their cut. Neither of the right-living men was very good at this game. Even better for Chigurn; Keldan poured the last of the wine beaker into his cup and looked around grandly for the wench.

“Intur is a poor game compared to full Dukks, gentlemen, do you need another?”

Lurgsh slurred, “We have a man coming.”

Keldan countered, “He should have been here an hour ago. Fellow can’t keep away from women!”

Lurgsh appeared to consider that gravely and growled, “Have a chair. You have to buy your own wine!”

Chigurn had no trouble skimming the men by barely winning most of the hands. The travelers kept their conversation to a minimum until Keldan outraged, “Where is he?! He had better not have kept that coin for himself!”

Lurgsh seemed unconcerned, “It is just a groat. Here, I have several!” The man clad as a merchant slipped his fingers in a buttoned vest pocket and tossed it on the table. “He has always been reliable, even if his brother is dougsh. If you ask me, fairy stories of Sauron’s gold are alehouse talk. Who could ever claim it anyway? Those Kelepar traders are having a jest at our expense.”

Chigurn lost a hand. “May I?” He picked up the coin and saw an old rune on one side. “Easterlings?” He tossed the coin back in the pot.

“Aye, company of them,” burp, “treating with Lord what’s-his-name. It is all a nonsense. Rulers have reasons enough to speak without rumors of sorcery.”

Chigurn lost another hand, slapping his cards down in mock frustration before leaning over the table and saying, “I thought such spells were over.”

Keldan helped himself to the new beaker and poured one for their guest to the aggravation of Lurgsh. “They are just wearing down now, like in the west with the Mournshaws. Some men may still be able to counter them.”

Lurgsh pronounced, “I have no such powers, and you’ll not catch me anywhere near Narsil.”

Keldan corrected him, “That is a sword. This is a river. I’ll not go there either. There is money enough along the Desert Road!”

To his apparent surprise, Chigurn won a large hand. He spared them enough money for the next game saying, “Please excuse me, best of sirs, my lonely wife awaits. Perhaps we can do this again tomorrow?”

“Keldan yawned, “Can’t. Leave with the light. We should probably find a bed ourselves. Good evening sir.”

Fifteen groats from the drunk, nine from these men after paying the house, it was one of Chigurn’s best nights in a long while. More importantly, he had something for Ureano. The trader’s wilted flower would know where he was.

_____________------____________

The knock on the door was not who she wanted. “Good morning, Mr. Chigurn. Ureano is still away.”

“Good morning, Vibrant Flower. Do you know when he returns?”

After the last time, she would have told the loathsome creature not until the end of days. Today she said, “I expect three days, but you know that is not certain.”

“Tell him I have something important.”

The kept-woman replied, “This had better be. Your last effort was inaccurate.”

“Yes, well, this will make things right. He can judge that for himself.”

She smiled at him for the first time. “Very well, Mr. Chigurn, I will say you have important news. Your old lodgings yielded no answers after the last exchange.” She raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, a disagreement with my landlord. He was not keeping the place to my standards.”

The Flower said thinly, “I see. And where can you be found now?”

“Leave word at the Desert Sword. I am there often.”

Vibrant Flower felt a little more vibrant. She had done as the Rhûn told her and a silver to match the one she hid under her drawer was almost hers.

__________------_________

Ureano was back in four days. After bathing and spending time with his little Flower, he went to his usual tavern for wine and a smoke. A large, unsympathetic doorman had instructions not to let a long list of fellows inside, including Chigurn. The swindler waited outside but never got his opportunity. Hopefully the flower would plead his case.

Starting the conversation they hadn’t had several hours before she purred, “You are home early, dear man. Was the evening not to your taste?”

“Just tired. The road is losing its appeal.”

“I worry terribly when my one love is away so long.”

He doubted that but she knew what to do when he returned. “What news of Lhûg?”

“Nothing of note. There is a new tax on guests that has the innkeepers in confusion. Mr. Orthur’s old horse finally died. Oh, and Mr. Chigurn wanted a word.” She laid that on last with the least of concern.

Ureano said uncharitably, “Chigurn, eh? Did he bring my money back?”

“I am sorry to say no, my love. He did say it was important and would atone for his last, uhmm, inaccuracy.”

“What does the dougsh want?”

“He would not share such things with me. I was more concerned with keeping him from entering.”

The merchant was ready for more flowery attention, “Where is he staying?”

“He did not say but that he could be contacted at the Desert Sword. Now, you must tell me all about your trip.”

When summoned the next morning, Chigurn was not served tea. “What is it?”

His informer looked around the room until Ureano said, “Darling Flower, could you go see if Mr. Youngus has returned?”

“Of course. Perhaps Monthü and I should do our shopping as well?”

Chigurn waited until the door closed. “I received news that the Easterlings are speaking with Khagan Yigresh about Sauron’s gold.”

“You waste my time with this?! I should have had you caned for your last falsehood!”

“Take your time, old friend. I got this from a pair of travelers in the garb of the Rhûn returning home. One showed me a coin with a symbol stamped on one side.” Chigurn won the coin but it was appropriated by the Desert Sword as part of their cut. “The fellow said there were more. It sounded very dark.” The card-cheat was not supposed to know of the Visitors but he did, so he said softly, “It involves friends to the west.”

Ureano was only slightly impressed. Everyone had heard of the lost treasure of the Dark Lord. Some still dug until their hands bled under the great tower. All they found were orcs and rocks. “Where?”

“He said the Nargil but did not know where that was.”

“I need more than that, unless you pay the money you owe me for past foolishness.”

Chigurn needed to discourage that idea, “Ask among your friends. I will inquire of the merchants again and see what else they know.” The thief thought the men long gone, but he could sound earnest and let Ureano work his extensive contacts in the meantime.

The merchant had tea with others who traded in secrets and indeed, there had been a deputation to the Lord of Upper Khand from the Bror of the Rhûn, the highest possible men in this vast expanse. No one knew the substance, if there was any. They were soldiers to a man and did not drink much or fraternize with the smooth women cultivated for moonlight. Northmen have no sense of fine things.

At a local scholar’s home he heard, “The story was that a stash of tribute was stored on the south side of the sea. No one knows where, with the trolls, probably. None has been found under the tower in thirty years.”

The merchant did not want to reveal knowledge of the coin so he asked, “Was there anything of the old desert script associated?”

“Who knows? If men hid it, they died there.”

_____________------____________

As Nag Kath intended, the story had been misheard four times as it passed from Lurgsh to Chigurn to Ureano and finally to a Visitor Ghorandul tasked with taking it to Mordor. If the Assured had questions, Ureano would be honored to further his inquiries. Chigurn got a cuff on his ear for his predictable yarn of missing the traders but Ureano did not demand his money back.

The Ghorandul did not make it to Ûniarra Nûrn until mid-February. The assistant of High Visitor Uvuo himself escorted him to Nulvanath’s presence. The field-man abased himself before rising to his knees. The Assured sat on his throne and fingered the gold ring on his first finger, always dangerous.

The story boiled-down to the Easterlings and Khandians holding middling talks about something that no one in the southern capital seemed to know anything about. There was a rumor that it had to do with the Dark Lord’s lost gold but that was unreliable - possibly somewhere on the Nargil. Which side was anyone’s guess. The spy did not give it much credence but felt it important enough to mention. The Assured smiled and told the junior messenger that people like him would make history someday. The Ghorandul touched his head to the flagstones knowing greatness was inevitable and left to find a meal.

Any practical man would dismiss the story as nonsense. Men with a sorcerous lust for treasure can do no such thing. By the end of the week, four riders led by Hu-Richtren (Visitor Captain) Anandogh took the northern Nûrnen road armed to the teeth and under instructions not to let anyone slow them. They also had enough cash to trade horses at stations and not sleep until dark. It took them just over three weeks to pull into their haven in the Khagan’s capital.

Retainers took their horses, bowed deeply and showed them into the room where Nen and Zrev were having dinner. Zrev was more senior than the arriving Visitors but they were more recently with the Assured so they treated each other as equals and more food was brought.

Richtren Anandogh said to both without preamble, “What know you of this?”

Zrev was unconcerned, “There was a delegation from Dulgov here until fall. Half left, half are still here. They bought a stout home on the canal.”

“How many men?”

Lieutenant Nen replied, “There are four left. The senior men are gone.”

Anandogh said as his meat arrived, “Have you searched the property?”

Nen answered, “No. Someone is always there. I have it under eyes.”

Richtren Anandogh glowered, “I hope you have not lost your zeal, Zrev.”

Zrev had not and would not be called to account by a mere Richtren, “Then you had better explain what this is about. As far as we know, the Bror sent a delegation and they went home. The Khagan greeted them in and out but Juegesh handled the exchanges. They were not secret. If you have news that interests the Assured, you will tell me with your next breath.” Anandogh felt sorcery with the threat. Bluff called, the Visitor explained that the Easterlings might have objects of use to their Lord. 

Zrev looked at the Lieutenant and said matter-of-factly, “Then it is time for our northern guests to see more of this lovely city.”

They did not need to contrive anything. Three days later, one of the four men in the home was seriously burned cooking whatever vile food they ate, probably bottom-fish. His fellows carried him to a healer four blocks away, being careful to lock the gate as they left.

The inside had been decorated by trolls. If there was anything of use here it would not hide long. And what makes people think they can hide valuables behind pictures and tapestries? A cheap weaving of Xangoe’s triumph created a rustling sound when shaken. The printing or parchment was sewn under the back. The men nodded to each other and were over the fence well before the poor Easterling returned with bandages on both hands. It would teach the fool that cooking was woman’s work.

At the end of April, Anandogh presented his find to the High Visitor who took him to Nulvanash. The Richtren lost weight and two horses but he had done as ordered, and done it well. His liege unrolled the page and stared intently. Everyone in the hall watched him seem to swell and contract with each breath. The man was surely called to Lordship!

Compliments were due and he paid them, “Excellent work, Anandogh. Take your rest and we will talk soon about other ways to honor the one we serve. The man touched his head to the floor and returned to his rooms. His escorts were well fed.

When he was alone Nulvanash stared at the map. Was it genuine? Someone thought so. Would Khand or Rhûn march in here and take what they wanted? That would unite even the deepest divisions among the Nûrnen Hurms in short order ... or would his enemies assist possible invaders? The map was old. Did it have secrets only seen in certain light or on certain days? 

The script off to one side was no help to him yet. The Assured could not read or write in any language. This was certainly a tongue of the past. Was it Sauron’s? It had that feel. It was said an old prophet above the delta knew some of the Elvish gibberish. The man would be found and brought here with dispatch! And most of all, what was this charm drawn in the mountain?

The hermit was the worse for wear after hard travel. He had never ridden a horse before. He never would again. The man was dragged before the Assured and forced to his knees. In a voice to command obedience, Nulvanash said, “Go to the table. Read the writing on the page.” The order resonated off the walls.

When the poor man did not rise quickly, two of the door guards jerked him up by the armpits and marched him to the discussion table. The fellow gazed at the unfamiliar script and mouthed the words one at a time. “High Assured, the writing is ancient. It says that tribute paid in the time of the Dark Lord’s ascendance was placed in the mountains near a river called the Nuschga and guarded with fell wards against any but a Lordly voice. I am not sure but I think the cartouche is of the lands before the Balchoth.”

The Assured was kindly, “Does it say where?”

“Nay, most High. It only says that power will make itself known.”

“Guard, get this man food after his long trip.” It was a short meal.

_____________------____________

Four days later, Anandogh took six cavalrymen on a hard, three day ride up the Nargil until they reached the foothills. No cliffs like the map were on their side so they backtracked to the highest ford and crossed at first light. One rider was swept downstream in the strong flow. His reward would come when Lord Sauron was avenged. Three leagues to the east they identified the distinctive crags and peaks. There they were, on the wrong side of the river. His orders were specific. Find the place regardless of where it was and report. The Assured would be obeyed.

Hiding the horses, the troop climbed the trail and scoured the rugged slope. Shale slipped under one man’s foot and he twisted his ankle. It would not kill him but he was useless. Dinner was jerky. Late the next afternoon, one of the troopers called up to his fellows. There was a cave, a troll cave. They had not brought torches so Anandogh had them gather brush for a large fire in the center of the main opening. One man found a nipper. Another man found a second. Light failed so they slept around the fire and built it high the next morning. Four more of the small gold coins were found along with a goblet holding a raw gem and a handful of doctored groats. As they prepared to leave, another nipper was found in the dirt. 

That was but one cave. The five who could walk fanned further east until a trooper found another cleft in the rock face. Anandogh hurried to the entrance and felt he had been pushed away by a great wind. He tried again and doubled over in confusion and anguish. Vomit came out his nose until he backed twenty feet away from the opening. A trooper was ordered to try with the same result. This was beyond the ken of mortal men. After the Richtren gathered his wits, they carried the injured Ghorandul back to the horses and waited until daylight for the four-day trip to deliver the news. The troopers were all kept in individual cells upon their return until their ordure was inspected for coins. There being none, they were returned to duty. In the meantime, the Assured considered the coins and the map. This gold was older than Gondor. The coppers were stamped from Sauron’s first appearance here. 

What mattered more was the ward on the larger cave. Perhaps a lesser cave had a lesser spell now degraded enough for mountain men to have looted it. But they had not gotten through the spell that made Anandogh ill and drove him mad. He would give the man a couple days to recover and then he, Nulvanash, Assured of Yvsuldor and rising power in Mordor, would go there personally and see how much of the protection was left.

_____________------____________

To his southeast, Hurm Rydovosh met with his counselors. “What is the dougsh doing now?!”

His wise man said as delicately as men of Mordor can speak, “My Lord Hurm, a bird in Ûbésêsh whispered that the Assured will bring a small party upriver and cross to our side. The reason goes deeper than his ears heard.”

“Has no one told me that he visits?”

“Nay, best of Lords. They hope to travel in stealth.”

“Send Captain Orvous and a full company of cavalry. Don’t kill Nulvanash. He still has my sister and her children visiting her kin.” He didn’t say hostages. “But let it be known that the Hurm of Nargil expects courtesy from his neighbors. Have Orvous leave with the light.”

Anandogh was his ruthless self quickly and on the first morning in May, a troop of twenty four riders, including High Visitor Uvuo and Nulvanash’s Chamberlain, accompanied the Assured in formation up the river. Since the headwaters were so dangerous, they forded half-way up and hugged the bank to avoid alerting Nargil pickets of their movements.

They failed. Twenty miles upriver they found twice their number looking confident and ready. Archers to their flank stood in formation to pin them against the bank. The Nargil Captain rode over with his Sergeant and said, “All honor, Hurm Nulvanash. A pleasant day for a ride.”

The High Visitor replied, “The Assured thinks so as well.” The Assured did not treat with enemy soldiers who should know better than to call him a common Hurm. 

“It being so late in the day, there is only just time to return to last night’s campground. Perhaps the embers are still warm.”

Nulvanash kept his fleshy face composed but his frustration spilled over and he doubled the arrogant officer in pain with a wave of his ringed hand. Had the man fallen from his horse, arrows would rain on him from bowmen outside of his range. Like Nag Kath saw early in life, arrows cannot be reasoned with. The Assured paid no further attention to Orvous and turned his horse around. Someone would pay for this, starting with whoever alerted the unwashed Hurm of Nargil.

Ryduvosh enjoyed the report. If he wasn’t such a tyrant, he would remind folk of a Rohirrim. They made something like ale from gureeq and roots. He liked the company of soldiers since he was a fine soldier at need. Orvous recovered within a few hours, rode home with his summary and was invited to share a mug before the Hurm attended other concerns.

Eighty miles north, Nulvanash seethed. Ryduvosh knew he was coming. Did he know why? A Ghorandul trailed the group long enough to report the enemy rode home after the confrontation without exploring. Nulvanash made token sorcerous inquiries of his staff but did not maim anyone. The petty despot to his southeast could not have gotten a full company of his best to that wretched corner of their lands by the time the Assured made his decision to ride, even if there was a spy here in the capital. Was there something to the Bror and Khagan’s meeting after all? 

He had time. He had stopped aging. It did not matter how many lives of men it took, he would reach his ends. That was how Sauron did it, patience until the pounce. He was still uneasy. At times he wanted to understand the secrets the great ones left behind. At others, he disdained the lettered; always discussing and stalling, failing as warriors. Such weakness was infuriating. This was a time of wishing he understood the ancient markings on what seemed a genuine document of power. He had the coins. A trusted Captain had been repulsed by wards that must be just as old, but he had not been torn to pieces. Was the Nazgûl’s curse fading with his master’s demise? The first one to overcome it would reign supreme. 

And he had the ring.

Nulvanash cursed his own impatience in dispatching the old hermit. The creature might have discovered more or shared more with the right incentive. It followed a lifetime of not letting people know too much. No matter. There were those who could answer his questions.

_____________------____________

The one exception to knowing much was Uvuo, the High Visitor. He was as close as the Assured had to his own Nazgûl. The grim, driven man ran both the internal security in the capital and the missionary Ghoranduls in the field. He was summoned.

Uvuo walked down the hall and nodded to the guards outside the door. They worked for General Yshok but no one interfered with the black Visitor. This was the one man who did not have to touch his forehead to the floor when approaching the throne. A deep bow was enough.

Rising, the Visitor looked at his Lord. He was the one. He would return them to greatness. That was why Uvuo gave Nulvanash the ring. Their leader had shown cunning and resolve. He also had enough personal sorcery to excite the gold band that had been acquired at great cost. Uvuo could not bring power forth but it gleamed when the Assured placed it on his finger. Together they had conquered the weak and timorous despots of the western delta, built this capital and demanded tribute from the fallen. The Easterling campaign almost worked but for the white ghost. The one in upper Harad succeeded and now his Visitors were undermining their womanish neighbors. When Nulvanash ascended, he would need Uvuo’s help then too.

The Assured called him closer saying, “Did you feel it?”

“I did my Lord.”

“Pity Khamûl could not have left it on our side of the river.”

Uvuo wasn’t here to fawn, “Both sides of the river are your side, my Lord. We have but to convince others.” Yes, the humiliation on the Nargil would be repaid with interest.

Nulvanash came as close to a smile as he could these days. “Now; what of the man in Khand who brought this to our attention?”

“I think we should ask him what else he knows. One of those gold coins is certainly worth his time to come visit.”

In the past, Nulvanash would have thought nothing of such an expense. But now, even with his wealth and power increasing, it pained him to part with even a single nipper. He must draw all such to him. The Visitor was right. Uvuo sometimes understood better than he did. “I agree. Have your man make a generous offer. No reason to mention where this has led if he does not already know, eh?”

Uvuo had considered that, “I expect whatever he is peddling must have great worth in your Lordship’s city.”

The Assured fingered his ring and flexed his hand with the slightest red color, “Then we must purchase it.”


	27. Crossing the Nargil

**_Chapter 27_ **

**_Crossing the Nargil_ **

The junior Ghorandul knew nothing of that when he arrived in Lhûg for Ureano. The trader was in the east and the young man waited impatiently among the blasphemers for two weeks. When he finally delivered his message and payment, Ureano said he would need to ask some questions before returning to the Nûrn as soon as he could. Strangely, the nervous Visitor said the payment was for his current inventory without asking what it was. No one told the rider to wait so he left the next morning, a three week trip, half through Aômul's realm, without killing the horse.

Chigurn did not expect to hear from Ureano again. The Visitors had not mentioned the merchant’s information leading to the map in faraway Ûbésêsh that started the avalanche. They had not complained either so it signified nothing. The invitation to speak was not threatening so the card-sharp visited Ureano’s home the next morning and was shown a seat by the departing flower.

“Good morning, Chigurn. Have you had tea?”

Tea was for those with money and time. “Not yet.”

The trader placed two mugs on the table himself, unusual; that. Both men took sips. Ureano asked, “I need to know a bit more about that groat from last spring. There is interest.”

Chigurn was not one to admit he had said all he knew if there was another payment in the offing. It was time to be creative, “It seemed the same size as one of the westerling coins (which it was).”

“It is more the manner of your finding it. Tell me about the men.”

“Rhûnish, seemed to be doing rather well. Not skilled at Dukks.”

The merchant took a long pull at his perfect tea before asking, “Did they volunteer their absurd story?”

“No, they were waiting for another who did not join them. The conversation came from annoyance at being left waiting. They did not stay long.”

“And they invited you into their game?”

Chigurn had no reason to play the innocent. Ureano knew what he did. “One of my other patrons (implying he had many) paid me a commission so I went to celebrate and they were already playing, and drinking, perhaps too much drinking. Not seen them before.”

“What were they selling?”

“It did not come up. They wore riding boots.”

Ureano knew he had exhausted the subject and handed Chigurn two Gondoran fivers. “Keep this to yourself.”

__________------_________

Two days later, the merchant saddled his horse for the trip with panniers of tin pigs on two protesting donkeys. Mordor did not have tin which was needed for bronze. If they wanted tin at double his usual price, he would oblige. 

Leading donkeys to Mordor was not in Nulvanash’s dark design. The ruse to not revealing their true interest meant the merchant would arrive no faster than he could walk. Ureano had been there five times before. He knew the way and where to stay. He wondered who else would keep his flower fresh at night. Past her prime, yes, but she had been so expertly trained.

In early July, a right-living bird whispered in Shelturn’s ears that Ryduvosh had confronted the Assured east of the river. Events were in motion. The Assured would have learned just enough to send trusted men into enemy territory. They found the coins but had been denied by the spell on the Dwarvish charm. It was believable enough for Nulvanash to sneak in with a minimal guard. That he didn’t take his whole army must mean he either didn’t trust his ability to break the ward or knew Rydovosh had good enough troops to keep him from getting there. It also meant that Rydovosh took his informer in the capital seriously and certainly would again.

Now the Elf had to start guessing. In addition to an alerted Hurm protecting his ground, the Assured probably thought Easterlings and Variags had discussed trampling their way over any resistance Mordor could muster if they thought it was worth their time, that or buy their way in. One or both high lords would have someone of Nulvanash’s power or greater in a saddle. The Assured was not yet confident in exclusive sorcery.

Of one thing Nag Kath was certain, by design; the tyrant would want to know what the rest of the map said. He found enough hints to locate the trove but there was more writing on the map. The right-living war council did not know that a swamp prophet had given his life translating the Sindarin. Some of it could not be translated because it was gibberish. Few scholars would admit that. The Elf chuckled at drawing the ring over the mountain smeared with duck fat. That was inspired.

Nulvanash would be back soon, looking for people who could make sense of those runes. Captain Lurgsh became Rhûnic scholar Tsitreq, an expert in ancient symbols. Shelturn was promoted to Levas Quastille, master of lore in Mistrand until irregularities came to light with receipts. Their tall, taciturn assistant was a bastard Dúnedain from the northern wastes who spoke no local tongues but was familiar with Elvish. The three took modest quarters after an employer paid to bring them here and then reneged on the contract. They were reduced to accepting students to earn enough coppers for the return trip. By the strangest turn of fate; their few pupils were folk who quietly went back and forth to the Hanvas Tûr retreat.

While Ureano was berating his poor donkeys, Nag Kath thought it was time for another trip. By reliable accounts, Hurm Rhorzah along the southeast Nûrnen got along tolerably well with Rydovash and both despised Nulvanash. That made the entire southern lake hostile to the Assured's purpose and certainly no lovers of the man’s Visitors. The exception was the northeast corner of the lake where smaller warlords were still in bloody contention. The Assured backed one against the other which made neither reliable.

There was good road almost all the way to Nargil that skirted trouble between the eastern rivers. With Charlo moving at speed they made their way to the Culduin in just over a month. He did not pay a courtesy call to Hurm Rhorzah on the way by but he might on the way home. 

The road forded the Culduin along the northern foothills of the Ephel. If his directions were right, this was the faster way to get within a hundred miles of where he had been with Shelturn. The road became a trail for the next hundred miles into Nargil itself. Rydovosh’s capital was in a series of hills and lakes well away from the smelly sea. The rivers on either side of his domain and tributaries between offered both military protection and irrigation for grain. Two bandits thought to relieve the changeling of his horse. It would be a while before anyone found their heads.

The only path took him directly to the city of Nargil which might have fifteen hundred souls. Every one of them stared at the curious rider with the long, black, braided hair in Easterling style. There could only be one possible building for the Hurm so Nag Kath tied Charlo in front and went inside still carrying a sheathed sword. 

No one was sitting. Sitting on duty showed weakness. A few men milling about stopped but no one spoke until he said in Plainstongue, “I would speak with the Hurm.”

One of the men walked to an office just off the main room and returned moments later with a man in cleaner clothes. Nag Kath repeated himself. Plainstongue was a trading language of Sauronic allies but quite different inside Mordor itself. No one here spoke the black tongue. The man said tentatively, “Who you is?”

“I am Nag Solvanth. I have sent word to him before.”

They spoke in an unrecognizable language and the new man walked down a hall. To Nag Kath’s surprise, the Hurm himself came back with him and stood with his arms crossed. The Elf bowed low and said in Westron, “Thank you.”

Without a word, the despot turned to his clerk as if for translation. The clerk shrugged but did not seem afraid. Both faced him again and the Hurm pointed back where he came. They walked to a small room with a table that looked like it was used for playing cards. Rydovosh sat down and motioned for Nag Kath to do the same while the clerk left. The Hurm said nothing but looked his guest up and down carefully. After five minutes of that, the clerk returned with a trooper who stood at attention. Satisfied the right people were in place, the Lord told his trooper something and the youngster repeated in halting Westron, “His Excellency wants to know how you are.”

“I am fine, thank you.”

The trooper looked confused for a moment and corrected, “Who you are.”

“I am Nag Solvanth come to pay my respects.”

The trooper gave his boss the gist and was told to ask, “Why come you here?”

“I come to destroy the Visitors.”

It took a couple tries but the Hurm unfolded his arms and showed true interest. Nag Kath put him at about thirty five. He was bigger than the typical Nûrn. Lore said that the men of this region came here long ago and were enslaved in different iterations of Sauron’s dominion. He had the coloring of a Northman with brown hair but the beard was not as full and his gray eyes were closer together. A slice across both lips had not been sewn in time to prevent the scar. His teeth were fair and his clothes were almost clean.

The man dictated something to the trooper who then said, “Did you send message of Nhûrguld?”

“Yes.”

“Why”

“Nulvanash is enemy to more than Hurm. Others are not pleased with the Visitors.”

That went more quickly. Rydovosh broke into an actual smile before shouting, “Vuuch!”

One of the men from the main room appeared with two large mugs. It smelled like beer that had been used to wash saddle blankets. The Hurm raised his mug and so did his guest followed by long pulls. The trooper was not given a mug; a mercy. The Uruk had tasted worse and finished his slurp with a satisfying smack of his lips.

So far, so good. He had made it here alive and seemed to have the ear of Nulvanash’s most prominent adversary. Nag Kath was able to get across that he represented the Bror of the Rhûn. That was a long way away but everyone knew he was one of the two most powerful post-Sauronic forces in Middle-earth. There were Rhûnic horses’ progeny under the men who made the rules here. 

The Hurm had other things to attend after half a bell. The trooper found himself reassigned as guide to the stranger and showed him to a storeroom of some sort just off the main hall. Since it wasn’t generally used for sleeping, it didn’t have many bugs. 

Dinner would not be recognizable as such in Dol Amroth. There was stew, of course, but it had so little meat that Nag Kath could keep it down with a smile. There was some sort of green that took forever to chew. All meals came with a serving of gureeq porridge and then there was a twig to pick your teeth afterwards. He ate with the Hurm and a dozen officers who thought the Elf strange but not threatening. A man with no scars must have never been in a fight. They all had a large mug of the ale, but only one, and left immediately after eating. Nag Kath and his new shadow followed them and looked down the plain at the sea. It was time to find out what the Hurm would allow him to say, “What is your name?”

“Name Idgshtok”

These people would assume Nag Kath was a soldier so he sounded like one, “Rank?”

“Khasaak. You call horse.”

“Did you face Nulvanash?” That was the test.

The man pointed downstream and said, “There.”

“He has power, yes?”

Idgshtok growled, “He is puukh.”

That was black speech, and a black insult too. 

__________------_________

The next day started for the soldiers at first light. Most of them lived in row-buildings that had partitions. Men with women got their own space with extra for kids. Single men slept in barracks that could take up to twenty. Those were about half full. The Hurm sent for Idgshtok and Nag Solvanth at mid-morning. This time they went to the Hurm’s quarters. A woman about the age of the ruler wandered by and looked at the queer Easterling with a frown. What could only be a daughter and son came by a few minutes later as the Elf and trooper stood waiting to be called. They stopped and pointed with a word among themselves before moving on. A booming voice from a back room must have been the invitation. Idgshtok walked Nag Kath back to the source of the sound. 

Chûran had described Nulvanash the way western men imagined eastern despots; well dressed, luxuriously appointed and with servants scurrying hither and yon for every whim. Rydovosh was a soldier first, probably how he got and stayed here. There were no chamberlains or attendants fussing about with papers. The man was sitting with what must be two officers who seemed to be sharing a jest rather than quaking in the man’s presence. 

The Hurm said something to Idgshtok who interpreted that as; why do we help you?

Nag Kath thought that a fair question and said, “We help you.”

“Why do we need help?”

This was going to take a while. Fortunately, Mordor Lords didn’t waste time on flowery court etiquette. “Nulvanash will attack you in force next year.” Nag Kath did not say they would attack the least important part of the land and then leave.

The older of the two officers had the trooper ask, “How do you know this?”

“He seeks to replace Sauron in these lands.”

At that point they dispensed with roundabout probes. Everyone in the room knew the Assured’s intentions. The title Hurm was now beneath him as he prepared to make them his slaves. If the pale Easterling knew it, the world knew it. Nag Kath kept up the offensive, “He gains power. Nhûrguld is next.”

He could see them assessing forces. In a straight fight, Nulvanash had a three to two advantage but that would be exhausted the further they pushed from the river. If they crossed the army at the river mouth, informers would notice barges being built. The army could also drive up the river on their side and ford the mountain streams. That would be obvious too with not much to eat. The problem was that the upstart Assured was cultivating friends around the Nûrnen. If the dougsh could bring the eastern river clans under his banner, that changed things since Rhorzah to the Hurm’s east could not stop them from fording the Culduin.

To break the silence, Nag Kath added, “He will use sorcery.” Sorcery was the same word in just about every language. 

The officers spoke again among themselves. Rydovosh had Idgshtok translate, “He is Orvous, horse chief. Sees sorcery!”

The younger officer said in a softer voice, “Black Lord give pain here.” The man pointed at his stomach and mimed bending in torment.

Nulvanash’s fatal mistake! It would cost him all. He couldn’t resist punishing the officer who embarrassed him in front of his crack escort. A thinking villain would have smiled at the navigational error and left. A powerful one would have melted the captain like wax and taken his prize. But no, the Assured made a petty example, the sort he made every day to keep people from knowing that a dozen of them working together could spit him like a Syndolan pig. He would have known there were arrows pointed at his double chin so he did back down, but not before showing his weakness.

Nag Kath asked the man the last question on the list, “Did you see or feel a color in your pain?”

The man straightened up and looked at his ruler and superior before saying, “Red.”

The Elf wasn’t sure but thought that was the color of Dwarves, like Elves were silver and men yellow. It would have flashed before his eyes as the power was released. A Dwarf ring would keep him greedy and fat, but little more.

The more senior officer asked, “And what will you do?”

“I will cut the ring from his hand while you keep him busy.”

This went on for another hour. Nag Kath asked the Hurm for an introduction to Hurm Aômul, Nulvanash’s hostile northeastern neighbor. Rydovosh asked if the great powers outside the Ephel crescent sought these lands for their own but did not expect an honest answer if this man was here playing the local warlords against each other.

Nag Kath gave them something they could use. “No. They will leave you alone. Our concerns are with those who do not respect rightful rule.”

They knew exactly what he was talking about. Stories of Frûnzar to the north and Yigresh’s relatives to the south even made it here. The Visitors were getting better, harder to spot. One in the largest town along the lake was known to them. He was young and stupid so it was better to watch his errors than try to identify his replacement.

Nag Kath stayed another two days, meeting with the Hurm and his most senior man along the main tributary flowing into the Nargil. Another commander was stationed to the east along the Culduin with a smaller force since Hurm Rhorzah respected the border better than Nulvanash. 

When he wasn’t in meetings, Nag Kath was allowed to wander. He caught a few fish in one of the creeks dripping down from the permanent snow caps to the south and showed two of the troopers how to bend hooks like his. Women were only out during the day and looked much like the men with closed-set gray eyes and non-de script hair. Women were not treated well around the Nûrnen but better here than in Nulvanash’s lands or the eastern deltas where Chûran was from. And this was Valinor compared to the deserts closer to Sauron’s capital.

In the end, the Hurm agreed that he would accept help in ridding the lake of the Assured as long as it did not expose his troops by themselves. Nag Kath said that he would speak with Hurm Aômul across the lake but could not get to it before he went into Nulvanash’s lair. Those two should make their own arrangements to work as a pincer when Nag Kath gave them the signal. That was when the man would be weakest. He also asked for a letter of introduction to Rhorzah on his way home.

Since no one in the Hurm’s realm could write, Idgshtok was sent with the changeling to the east bank of the Culduin River to introduce him to Hurm Rhorzah, who was as reasonable as a rascal could be.

_____________------____________

Idgshtok reminded Nag Kath a little of Dornlas. He was shorter than the Rohirrim, but taller and ganglier than his countrymen. When he was amused, he broke into a broad, toothy grin. This was another prejudice the Elf needed to break. Thirty years of exposure to western descriptions of lands they had never seen had given him a selfish sense of superiority. In practical, economic and cultural terms; absolutely. But this place was changing. How could western men think they would not? More than that, free-peoples didn’t care. It was a violent and often soul-wrenching process, but just as in Gondor, the Fourth Age was the age of men. Magical overlords, foul or fair, were gone. 

It took until now for Nag Kath to understand the politics of the Nûrnen Sea. The water itself was unusable. The realms in Mordor all ringed it for access to the half-dozen large rivers feeding in from the Ephel Mountains encircling this benighted land on three sides. Those were much stronger than they had been in Sauron’s day so the lake was rising making the fish that more edible. A number of crops could be grown on river banks so all of the little countries had the vast majority of their populations staring across a river at their neighbors, some enemies, some slightly less so. There was no tradition of ships or barges capable of transporting soldiers across the rivers for lack of wood. That was changing as the forests matured. The Hurms only now had enough horses for officers. Nulvanash had been breeding them since the day he seized the throne. That would change the balance of power in Mordor and everyone knew it.

To Rydovosh’s east was Hurm Rhorzah with whom he got along tolerably well. To Rhorzah’s eastern flank was the Scave River and just over it was a small city-state controlled by a Hurm in league with the Assured, replete with Ghoranduls. They were fighting a like-sized nation to their north just as Nulvanash had before consolidating the western delta. If the Assured's allies won, it would give the combined area enough clout to control trade trickling in through merchants like Ureano.

Nag Kath and Idgshtok presented themselves to Rhorzah. Now that the young trooper had more experience interpreting, the Hurm was able to explain the situation to his north. He wasn’t in the fight, but they had caught a few Visitors on their side of the river and sent them halfway back. Mr. Solvanth was welcome to use the road.

That was when Idgshtok dropped a surprise, he had been told to stay with the strange rider for as long as it took. The trooper had no wife. In this land, if the Lord said you were indentured, you were. Nag Kath spent the night thinking about security and decided to bring the young man along. He seemed interested in the outside world. Scholars would have to teach him everything, but on the way back here they would ride into hell. They needed someone who spoke hellish. With little in common, the two riders taught each other their tongues. Fortunately, the young student had some Westron from an uncle which got him the job in the first place. Nag Kath found he understood more of the local tongue than expected. The root was Plainstongue but many of the nouns were black speech. He might not mention that.

Clearing the last tail of the mountains, they were back in Khand. The fields had already been harvested. Autumn celebrations were underway. Idgshtok discovered wine. Another week brought them to the crossroads town of Nenbalrahm where they picked-up the little river that would take them the rest of the way. It was their annual harvest festival. People wore their best. Women danced in colorful dress, always covered completely but sensuous just the same. The Mordoran horseman’s mouth dropped several times when females fluttered their eyelashes at him. After that it was just another week of riding, mostly through the rain, to their school in Lhûg after a Kath Bath in the river.

______________-------______________

At first Idgshtok reminded Nag Kath of Dornlas. Now he reminded him of himself. Plucked from the blackness of Sauron’s world, he saw all manner of peoples and foods and smells. The Elf watched for signs that the lad was nasty or short-tempered but he seemed to take it all like he himself had gaping at the halls and tapestries of the White City.

The ninteen year-old trooper wandered about goggle-eyed as they put their horses in the paddock and walked into the former go-down that housed this temple of high-learning. Lurgsh was there teaching an actual student. It established needed pretenses and he liked kids. He liked Idgshtok too. They walked to a restaurant and ordered whisker-fish. The trooper ate everything on his plate. He would have to stay in town. Hanvas Tûr was not ready for soldiers of Mordor. Tomorrow they would get him clothes and a sword that wouldn’t break. 

Idgshtok got his own room in the modest building unfashionably far from the river. They had to make ground rules for his debut into Lhûg society. The first was that they would only converse in Westron. Mordor Plainstongue would set bells a-ringing. It could wait if he should not say something in public. Another rule was that he would stay close to their members, no wandering the city by himself. And he would not abuse wine or ale. 

Taught to nod up and down in agreement, Nag Kath took him to the local equivalent of Chandrie and Family for shirts, pants and socks. A good pair of second hand boots was found. The youngster was nervous having a barber cut his hair with the best steel he had ever seen but there was no bleeding. The Elf slipped him a ha-groat to pay the man himself.

Now for more good steel. The surplus of quality swords had been absorbed into the growing population but they were still available. Idgstosh had to look like a Broric soldier. They knew the place to ask. A beaming proprietor brought forth two weapons that had been officer’s kit long ago. The trooper swung both of them competently and preferred the lighter cavalry blade. His own sword found the bottom of the river. For the time being he was the first live-in student in the school and Lurgsh coached him in the tongue of Easterlings. Nag Kath stayed three more days to ease Idgshtok into Khandian life but the lad was at home the minute he got here.

______________-------______________

That very same morning, Ureano arrived in Ûniarra Nûrn with his tin ingots. He had to buy a third donkey two weeks in or cripple the first two the hills but all three of them and his horse arrived not much the worse for wear. Since he had already been overpaid for his goods, he left them at the army depot and found a bed in the barracks. 

The trader nearly left two days later without being announced but for once, the administration worked. Nulvanash’s civil servants were Visitors after the first two levels of bearers and cleaners. The warehouse man sent his daily report to his supervisor who then informed the metalworkers that materials had arrived. Being unexpected, the metalworkers asked the Visitor if they were to make something of bronze. The question made it the level of those who reported to Uvuo.

Any foreigner in the city was watched at all times so they knew where Ureano was. An invitation for tea was sent from the High Visitor, one who famously abstained from alcohol. The trader would rather have ridden-out quietly, leaving the donkeys as change, but there was no refusing the large Ghorandul waiting at the door.

The two men had met twice before when there was information to help the Assured in his governance. Both tips were accurate and this latest information much more so. Ureano knew about the coin, the travelers and movements-in-force by the major powers. Explaining the first was easy because he had no qualms sharing what Chigurn told him. The second was easy because neither the Easterlings nor the Variags had done anything unusual in years. There was no mention of the map but Uvuo gave the merchant one of the altered groats. Ureano should confirm from his source if that was like the one he saw.

Always happy to see their good friend of Khand, the High Visitor gave him another forty silvers. A single Florin was the same value but the Assured could not stand parting with gold. That was in exchange for the negligible service of sending his reply with the local Visitor when he got home. He should keep his ears to the dirt for any trouble with the Lords of north and south. Oh, and did he know of any who could assist with Elvish tongues? The Assured was much interested in restoring their lost cultural heritage.

Ureano beetled his brows in thought, “A party of scholars is stranded in Lhûg - familiar with elder-tongues.” He went on to describe their troubles, which had been gossiped all over town for no apparent reason. Would they be of use? Uvuo gave him another fifty silvers for expenses to employ them. Ureano had no idea he just paid for the trip.

______________-------______________

One of those very scholars visited Chûran later that afternoon. Now almost October, her under-robe accents were soft colors of earth and sky. He was served tea in a new chair that was tall enough for him. The maid then took her basket out for extended shopping.

“You are much away, yes?”

“Indeed Chûran. I visited the dark lands again. We will need allies in the season of strife.”

Her trained smile drooped slightly. A sip of tea brought, “I do not care for that, though it is necessary. Forgive me.”

“There is nothing to forgive.” She had said she had nothing private and Nag Kath had to delve. She discussed the movements in what Nulvanash styled as his palace. It had more style than the school warehouse but it was not as grand as the local Khan’s private home. 

In the Assured’s lands there were three classes of people; Visitors, soldiers and slaves. She had been among the last. The local warlord in her eastern delta was aligned with the Assured’s predecessor, just as the leaders were now. For lack of cash or soldiers, four untouched girls were sent to the Hurm of Furnar Durosh. Chûran’s desirable Khandian features might have been selected for the man’s personal use but when she failed to understand a guard’s command, he struck her face leaving a purple welt. She was presented for inspection before it healed. Only one of their four was placed in the Hurm’s quarters. The other three were given to officers or sold.

Chûran landed with a promising Captain named Nulvanash. His needs in her direction were modest. The man preferred to spend his time with advancement. He became chief counselor to Hurm Joukbahn in the next few years. With much idle time, Chûran spoke often with the Hurm’s women who received much more lusty attentions. They taught her ways to retain a man’s favor. She had little occasion to use them but her prospects were poor if the man found others for his pleasure.

Six years into her concubinage, Nulvanash began spending all available time with Uvuo, a soldier/priest of the delta. The fanatic had a hard, uncompromising view of how life should be lived and the tests a man must overcome for supremacy. The year after that, a vein was said to burst in Joukbahn’s heart. Nulvanash had operatives of Uvuo in place against such a possibility and they took the heads of anyone else considered eligible to succeed. Of course, all of Joukbahn’s women and sons were slaughtered as well. When the blood was washed, Nulvanash was Hurm. 

That was not enough. Ruling even the delta was beneath a man of vision. He began to show sorcery said to align with Sauron through an ancient ring of power. With that, and the fear it instilled, he conquered Ûniarra Nûrn so the realm stretched from the Lizzurant River to the Nargil and as far back into the black lands as anyone cared to claim, save a smaller delta disputed by Aômul. 

Nulvanash gained weight and sought treasure, bleeding his people to convert anything saleable to shimmering metals. Mordor itself had only iron ore and the black rock for melting it, but traders from the east brought things that were precious to him. Uvuo’s men helped those transfers and told those they visited about the ascendance of their Lord.

The other Nûrnen Hurms had been consolidating their holdings as well. For some unfathomable reason, neighboring despots did not appreciate Nulvanash’s obvious superiority. Raised in the same school of violence, they spurned his gestures. In outside trading lands, men who sought their rightful places in the new order listened. Some even agreed.

As the man’s obsession with his ring increased, his interest in personal pleasure vanished. Chûran and a more recent tribute girl were still treated well by their keepers. The guards knew better than to replace the Assured’s attentions. For a while, dismissing his pleasure females would have brought unacceptable ridicule but both women knew it was only a matter of time.

Nag Kath daydreamed off with that revelation since it supported his own contention that immortal dark ones would not create their own successors. Some could not. Some chose that path. He hoped his powers would not cause the same. Having this sensuous woman describe her pleasure training was hurting his focus. He kept those thoughts to himself since Chûran was dredging up memories she could not mercifully forget. 

She and Chlore, another girl of eastern blood, accumulated trinkets over a week when Nulvanash was in the west inspecting troops. Since the man loved gold in every room he went, there were some nice pieces. Two nights before his scheduled return, they dressed as laborers and crept out a window into the streets. A donkey was purchased and they started east along the northern route.

Nulvanash erupted. Riders were sent both north and south to find his gold. The women had taken the ferry across the mouths of the two rivers and were twenty miles into the realm of Aômul’s Nûrn when the horsemen closed. They had enough warning to take their bundles off the donkey and hide in a storehouse. 

The Assured’s riders did not create the same terror in Nûrn where Hurm Aômul had gutted two Visitors only the month before. The town outpost was outnumbered two to one but they stood in the troopers’ way and told them to leave or expect more company shortly. Unfazed, Ghoranduls threw torches onto the straw roof of the shed. Chûran clutched the nearest bundle and hid in a compost pit. Chlore did not get as far. Villagers tried to quench the fire and shot arrows into the haughty posse of the Assured. A Visitor seized the bundle Chlore dropped and the company retreated back to the river leaving one man fallen. 

That night while the villagers were enjoying the last of the Ghorandul’s screams, Chûran pushed the lid off the pit and walked every day she could find the strength with Chlore’s bag. The new girl had taken better mementos than Chûran’s and they bought this home ten years ago. If Visitors were still looking for Chlore, it might take a while.

Shelturn arrived at the scholarly residence that evening and was introduced to the Mordoran trooper. The lad was building his strength by eating anything that could be chewed. The Righter soldier gave Nag Kath a look that combined curiosity with having been played a dirty hand. Training their new recruit would be his job. 

The Elf explained that sometime next year, a party of feeble scholars would need to claim their moving money by traveling to the western Nûrnen and deciphering ancient runes on a map. Of course, it would say exactly what they said it did, but they had to be there to flush Nulvanash out of his hidey-hole. Rydovosh was ready as long as he did not have to do it alone. Hopefully he had contacted his fellow Hurm Aômul as the top half of the pincer. They would approach the man on their way by in either event.

Getting there would take someone who spoke the language, someone like a Broric soldier whose mother had come from these lands. Nag Kath happened to know just such an imposter was gobbling late season melons near the fire. They agreed he might owe his first allegiance to Nargil, but judging by the way he was enjoying Khand, he might stay here.

Before any of that, Nag Kath had to call in reinforcements

**_Best and Most Rightful of Brors,_ **

**_I hope your Excellency is well._ **

**_I am pursuing our mutual interest and preparing for the last phase directly into Mordor. In my inquiries, I took the liberty of opening a diplomatic mission in your name in the capital of his Lordship, Yigresh, Khagan of Upper Khand. We discussed areas of common ground and the Variags look forward to exchanging Ambassadors to serve in your respective courts._ **

**_One of the protocols we suggested was that your Excellency and the Khagan meet near the border of your realms to discuss matters to your mutual benefit. In keeping with your state, each monarch should bring an honor guard of 400 light cavalry next spring. They should be kept well away from each other but in plain view of anyone we need to see them._ **

**_This letter is brought by a man acting on my instructions using the signet you gave me. He can answer your questions more completely. I am returning the ring with him to ensure his safe passage. I hope you will look on his efforts for your Excellency’s realm favorably._ **

**_In hopes we meet again, NK_ **

Keldan was the messenger. He knew upper Rhûn better than anyone and agreed to ride into the lion’s mouth. It was right-living at its best. The ring should get him there with changes of mounts at stations dotting the coast road. If the Bror did not flay him, he would probably be back here in the winter with official delegates to negotiate terms with the Khagan.

Nag Kath rode to Hanvas Tûr the next morning. No one followed. They would have to be even more careful. The Ghurate was hastily assembled to hear several months of fresh news. If the High Lords put their honor guards at the mouth of Mordor, the Assured could draw his own suspicious conclusions. Perhaps Rydovosh and Aômul would position troops at the ready and ride when called. It was in their interest to remove Nulvanash and split his realm between them. 

One thing was certain, three or four of them would visit Ûniarra Nûrn as guests of the Assured. Otherwise, the tyrant would fester in strength and spread his malice over the land. Nenwûla of the Viersh had made slight headway into plant and spell combinations with local substances. Different things grew here. Nag Kath took what he could gratefully. 

He also spent time counterfeiting more ancient texts to support the sham he had in mind for Mordor. One was a glyph of Khamûl the Nazgûl. It explained the sorcery needed to remove the cave wards. High Sorcerers could summon the power needed to collapse the decaying spell. Lacking such a leader of men, a Balchoth of lesser power could anchor the spell as a shaman of the Variags released the energy. Keldan would help the Bror publicly choose an alchemist of the capital to join the cortege. Groats would reach similar charlatans in Ûbésêsh.

Syndolan Day arrived. Khandian customs were quite different than in the west but the turning of the year mattered to everyone who ate. For his part, Idgshtok settled in nicely and enjoyed the festival. His Westron got better. His ribs did not stick-out. He did ogle females and had to be taught that Righters did not impose. Perhaps Shelturn would find him companionship in a less right-living establishment.

__________------_________

All of this depended on Nulvanash taking more bait. Ureano arrived the next day, first tending his flower and then getting a meal with wine. As much as he disliked the idea, he should speak with Chigurn. The informer was the only man who could match the rune on the coin.

He also had to find someone to approach the scholars. The merchant enjoyed a good reputation among his own but scratching too deeply would show he did a lot of business in the west, not the references Rhûnic scholars might favor. They had to go there since Nulvanash would not let the map or the ring out of his sight.

The right man for the job was the same scholar Ureano consulted before, a man of some renown. The Khagan has an extensive library in his capital but there were texts, mostly duplicates of the ones in Ûbésêsh, that needed study and tending in the local Khan’s palace. The scholar had quite a few himself and was was also a tutor of privileged youngsters. The new school did not interfere with his clientele, but he knew of it.

A lad brought his scented note requesting an audience with the destitute scholars two days later. All three and their servant were waiting in their sorry best. A modest assortment of texts and scripts were littered about as well as some books with no printing on the spines that held past inn registers.

Nag Kath was now conversant in Khandian but could not admit it. Teüchir Lurgsh spoke for the three. Scholar Îonzuld dabbed the corners of his mouth with a delicate kerchief and said, “A commission has come my way that I cannot accept, what with my obligations to his Excellency the Most High Khagan Yigresh. It needs a journey to the west where would be rendered a consulting fee of a Gondoran Florin for services in restoring the Hurm of Ûniarra Nûrn’s historical documents. I have it on good authority it is a modest collection.” The man sniffed like he just stepped in something and dabbed his lips again. Their Rhûnish library scattered around the room was beneath comment. 

One of the hardest jobs in acting is pretending to be desperate when you aren’t. Teüchir Lurgsh shifted his game leg with a wince and said in his northern accent, “That is a good deal of money, honored scholar. May we consider that in light of our other commitments?”

This was to be expected. Îonzuld could negotiate on both the finances and terms but he needed to get those men into Mordor. “I see no obstacle. Contact me at my home when you have spoken.”

This next line was rehearsed too. Lurgsh said, “Do you have any information on the nature of the subjects so we can prepare appropriately, assuming, of course, that we are available?”

Again dabbing the lips, “I believe some of it is ancient Elvish, in which I am not proficient. You understand, of course.”

The Easterling looked at the tall, braided one and said something northern. The man replied and then Lurgsh asked, “Your pardon, scholar, if this commission does not interfere with our teaching, could we look at your own esteemed collection for texts combining Elvish and eastern scripts?”

The scholar would have to keep his handman watching to make sure nothing left the room but he was being well paid as intermediary. He also wondered what else the tall creature would do for money. “I suppose so, providing we come to terms.” A message would be sent in due course.

Nag Kath had enough Variag to know they had exactly what they wanted. Money was no object but they needed to stall for time. The plodding of three scholars and their servant, including an unfortunate illness in the realm of Nûrn, would take them a month and a half. They had to arrive about the time Nulvanash started sweating that the Bror and Khagan were coming for the gold and what could only be Khamûl’s legacy of eastern sorcery. 

Noise of troubles on far borders would reportedly take Rydovosh’s main army to the far side of his filthy lands giving the Assured a clear path to drive in force and claim his prize. And Nag Kath had to get his hands on that ring as he did.

Scholar Îonzuld was sent a note that the party would be pleased to accept the commission and would leave on the first day of April. Feeble protests would not avail since their senior man was much affected by adverse weather. Ureano would have had him put up a better fight but he knew that the scholars had him by his manhood, even if they did not know it. They were the only game in town. Îonzuld was told to accept the delay with good grace and give the scholars four silvers, enough to prepare but not enough to run.

It wasn’t long before the Teüchir of ancient writing and the smooth Dúnedain were at the scholar’s door for a look at his personal archives. Of course, the scholar was busy, but his capable man stayed posted at the door watching for theft. Questions asked of him in different languages determined the handman only spoke Khandian.

They were playing on the vanity of scholars. It was absurd on its face that there would be combined Elvish and eastern texts. Even in their glory, you couldn’t get the two races in the same room. But nobody who didn’t know that would admit it. There might be other useful things in here and this was the one chance they would get to examine what the Variags might have said at their zenith. Lurgsh could read a little of the flowery script and the handman was able to direct them to specific volumes.

Over the next three interminable days, the only thing they found useful was the nature of Khandian sorcery as practiced by adherents not directly controlled by Sauron. If one of the two men needed to defeat the spell was of this land, it couldn’t hurt to know what they did. The scholar came by a few times to get close to Nag Kath but the grim face, accentuated by a little charcoal under his eyes, made Îonzuld reconsider private tutoring.

______________-------______________

Keldan had to wait after delivering the packet. It was taken directly to Bror Dulgov. With the signet seal, only he could open it. Keldan knew he spoke Westron but did not read it. The Bror would not have the messenger see the letter read to him.

Maturity kept the strapping Bror of the Rhûn from shredding it and the messenger with his own hands. That sneaky Elf! Thinks he to interfere in my rule, does he! “Bring the man in.” If the fellow had been ordered by someone with his signet, the man was doing his duty. When he was brought to the throne room the Bror demanded, “What know you of this?!”

“I was among those in the false embassy, Excellency.”

Well, he wasn’t trying to weasel out of it. “Do you know what I have done to people for less?”

“Yes, My Lord.”

Dulgov wouldn’t even get the satisfaction of hearing the man beg. He leaned forward and growled, “Why?”

Keldan smiled, “Because I want rid of the Visitors, Excellency.”

The Bror crossed his arms on his chest. “Good answer. Now what is this about?” Afterwards, Dulgov sent for his General, Chamberlain and second son Voranush. First son Dorgov would be included as soon as he was recalled from the field. 

The Elf had created two nearly separate lines: One was the obvious connection between Rhûn and Upper Khand. It probably made sense. Elessar and Éomer to the west wanted no more contested land than they had already seized. Bain had quickly taken the reins in the north. Keldan, who Dulgov now remembered from the farms when the Bror was still heir apparent, said the Khagan had dealt with a few relatives of his own and was not looking north for border squabbles.

What neither of them needed was a consolidated Mordor spewing out of the Ephel pincer. It was a near miss with his brother Frûnzar and they would not stop. This Yigresh might feel the same way. If all the Elf needed was for the two rulers to drink tea and talk about trade, he could manage that. Spies watching troops in strength leave their capitals might force the dougsh on the Nûrnen to overplay his hand. Then the local tyrants could clean up the mess. 

Dulgov instructed his staff to make the arrangements and had a company of genuine soldiers, led by Prince Voranush, carry a letter to the Khagan stating the terms favored by his Excellency were agreeable. He would look forward to meeting the man on the first of June. Keldan could join the advance riders wearing his own hide.

______________-------______________

It was the breath before the plunge. Between now and leaving there wasn’t much to do. With hope, Rydovosh would stage-manage the same sort of tea party with Rhorzah on their shared river and give the impression that the bulk of Rydovosh’s forces were on the wrong side of the country. 

Aômul was the unknown. He hated Nulvanash more than anyone. Rydovosh was going to probe but his men might not be welcomed any more than the Visitors. Given the route in-between, that meant taking one of their rickety boats across the stinking sea. From the east, the scholars had to travel the length of Aômul's realm to reach the Assured. Hopefully Aômul could make a stink as well. A lot of that depended on how the tyrants felt about the major powers massing outside the open end of Mordor. Nag Kath tried to create as many diversions as possible thinking most would fail.

Keldan arrived in Lhûg on March third. The Bror had agreed. It helped that Dulgov weeded another Visitor out of his own household staff just before Keldan arrived, the sort of fellow who would have sent word back to the High Visitor where to wait with a knife. The groom was from Kelepar and had been seduced by the order having never even seen Mordor.

His Excellency still had to wait for the Khagan to agree, but Khand had a lot more notice than Rhûn. With terms, Dulgov would start publicly preparing men for the border on or near the beginning of May. 

It was time to go. Nag Kath had seen Chûran several more times. There was a heat building between them and he had not acted on it. When he rose from his chair to say goodbye, she came to him and put her hands on his chest. If this woman wanted him to stay the night, he would. 

She looked in his eyes and said, “Nag Kash … Nag Kash, if you see a young officer who looks like me, please spare him if you can.”

He kissed her forehead and rode back to the school.


	28. Hearts of Mordor

**_Chapter 28_ **

**_Hearts of Mordor_ **

Their exit was a farce from the start. Lurgsh, who was in fine condition, had been limping around Lhûg since he got off his horse. They bought the slowest donkey in town, maybe one of Ureano's, ostensibly loaded with books and texts. The poor jenny actually did have a few, but under the pack-frame, their bows and arrows were within easy reach by lifting a flap. Nag Kath carried his. 

Shelturn had made his peace. This was a dangerous mission but it was a dangerous world. He was a warrior. The man dressed in the travel clothes of any soldier of the Nûrnen with lapel gorgets from every army that wore them in his front pocket. Idgshtok was ostensibly their servant but he was also dressed to play any part needed. All four carried their swords either at their sides or on their backs. Keldan wanted to come too but he needed to stay close to the Bror. 

There would almost certainly be a Ghorandul Visitor dogging their steps the whole way. The man was not hard to spot, lurking where he shouldn’t be as animals were readied and provisioned. He might see things he did not need to report; a decision for later. 

They trudged about the same pace as Ureano. Travelers were few and the villagers always stopped to stare. Twice, local toughs thought to share their cargo but thought better of the swords and bow. It took a month to reach the Sirlath River into Ghurzun. It would have been faster to cut cross country but that put them smack in the middle of the two western warlords fighting for control of those deltas. Studuray Nûrn was a crossroads for the path along the western bank and the river-border of Aômul’s realm in northern Mordor. 

They reached it towards dusk and made camp in time for a half-dozen hungry deserters from the western war to stalk towards the fire. The soldiers didn’t even bother to threaten. Rushing in with bare steel, arrows took the first two in their faces. The ‘fast’ finished the other four before the scholars could reach their bows. It was too dark to cross so they left them where they lay. Nag Kath had had these campfires before. Shelturn saw some of what the Elf could do but this was new to Lurgsh and Idgshtok. Nobody was hungry. Hopefully the Visitor behind them would think the raiders were already dead.

______________-------______________

Three quiet days brought them to the Nûrn crossroads, the worst place in the history of mankind. Their path continued along the lake-shore to the three-river delta. The spur to the right led to what most people think when they think of Mordor, the plain of Gorgoroth. This was the road where men bore the heavy grain bags that fed the orcs of Sauron. Many died under the whip. Many were eaten when they arrived. Surviving orcs came back this way and were slaughtered by men of the lake. If Nag Kath had ever wondered why he wasn’t enjoying wine, women and song in Dol Amroth, staring up that road put things in perspective. The scholars let the bloody changeling stare as long as he wanted.

The next day, two riders passed them like they were standing still. With luck that would be a Visitor making for his Lord reporting that Rhûn and Khand were massing cavalry at the open end of Mordor along with the Ghorandul who had been tailing them. Idgshtok spit where they crossed his shadow. 

One more day brought them a fork. The main road continued along the lake. To the right was Aômul’s capital of Truzurn on a lake above the east side of the Maegond River. It was ten leagues upstream and only another ten leagues from Ûniarra Nûrn. Most of that distance was over strong currents. Nulvanash would have to send an army a long way west to ford in enough numbers to hurt the Hurm. They arrived about mid-afternoon and found the only building that could house the royal family of Nûrn. 

Two men, guards in the loosest sense, loitered at the front door. They straightened when the four scholars walked up the short staircase. The young foreigner told them in their own tongue that the group was here to see Hurm Aômul with references. One of the guards went inside and the other tried to look like he might do something if the gore-splattered giant caused trouble. The man was back quickly with a more senior soldier who spoke with Idgshtok, now schooled for these conversations. The Sarn’t shut the door on his way back inside leaving both guards a few uncomfortable feet from the scholars.

It was an unending quarter-bell before he returned and told the guests to follow him. Their swords were not demanded but the Hurm appeared at the other end of a long, low room with four men to either side of him. They would have this discussion from thirty feet away. As practiced, Idgshtok greeted the Hurm with dignity and respect before stating that they were the folk his esteemed neighbor Rydovosh told him would be coming.

Only the Hurm’s eyes moved. He was a hard-earned forty with thinning brown hair and the kind of face that can’t help but scowl. He nodded to the men on either side and sat cross-legged where he was standing. The guards splayed against the wall and the Chamberlain told Idgshtok to tell the four to sit where they stood. If the scholars hadn’t just learned about Nag Kath’s speed, this would have seemed a distinct disadvantage. 

The Hurm spoke in a low, gravelly tone for a minute. The trooper translated that to say that he had heard from his fellow Hurm but he had done nothing with his troops. The guests were known enemies of the dougsh below the rivers so he would hear their petition.

Nag Kath spoke next. This had been practiced first from Westron to Khandian and then to the language of Mordor. “The evil Hurm of Ûniarra Nûrn will cross the Nargil shortly and make for the capital. It is there he will be destroyed”

Aômul nodded his head slowly. “That is a large boast. Do you think I will help?”

Nag Kath set the hook. “We are more concerned what you will do with the Maegond Delta.” That was the finger of land between the two realms that had not been conquered by either side. Nulvanash had a worse river to ford than Aômul. Both claimed it but neither controlled it. Raiding parties from each side made it a misery for the people trying to scratch gureeq out of the contested soil. 

The Hurm made Idgshtok repeat it and bristled, “What I do with my land is my business!”

It was Lurgsh’s turn to speak. He looked at his fellow scholars first before saying, “Then we are mistaken. You have our sincere apology, Lord Hurm.”

Mollified, the man rocked back on his hands with a, “Huummph.”

Shelturn requested, “In the spirit of fellowship, can you give us a pass to travel through your troops towards the Liûrzrant River?”

A humorous man might have said; ‘Gladly, if you can find any troops.’ This was no laughing matter. If he could occupy above the Liûrzrant and Rydovosh below, that would settle the pompous Assured right proper. Aômul asked, “What do you want?”

Nag Kath said, “In two days time, move your army across the Maegond. Make much dust, light many campfires. When this is over, it will be yours.”

“Why would the dougsh Hurm not attack?”

Nag Kath replied, “He seeks sorcery in Nargil. If he gets it, he will rule all.”

The Hurm sat stock still for a long moment before calling a counselor to sit next to him. They spoke softly for a few minutes. Nag Kath could hear it but did not understand. He was fairly sure that the conversation was about the weight of power. The sheer brutality of Sauron’s lands was that men, food and steel were uneasily balanced by bloody water. Aômul did not fear combat more than any of the others like him, but sorcery was different. For ten years he had heard tales of the puffy ruler dealing-out pain with a wave of his arm. The Hurm did not understand that. The ruler of Ûniarra Nûrn drew foulness to him. Aômul was five when the orcs dropped dead and the overseers either became leaders or were torn to stew by bare hands. He liked his life now. If occupying his rightful lands would help these men rid the lake of Nulvanash, he would take that chance.

With gravity the man spoke, “I will consider this.”

______________-------______________

The only troops they found after crossing to the delta were Nulvanash’s men on the north bank of the Liûrzrant. Nag Kath had seen his share of sullen, bullying soldiers but these lads won the ribbon. With a master who believed ‘might makes right’, everything trickled down. There was a genuine ferry docked on the other side of six infantrymen who rose and sneered at the approaching scholars. The biggest drawled something that could only be; ‘What do you want, dougsh?’

Idgshtok had worked on this response more than the rest combined, “We are here at the call of Uvuo.”

“Sure you are.”

The trooper nodded to Shelturn who produced a note. It had a single rune surrounded by a ring. The corporal changed his tune in a hurry and shouted to a man on the ferry to wave a yellow flag. That would start the horse on the other side nearly a quarter mile away. They all got on the barge except for the jenny. She had had about enough of Mordor. After some heehawing and pulling, she was loaded. There were no rails or hooks. If you went over, you swam. Loutish soldiers on the other side knew from the flag that these were not men to be trifled with. Shelturn showed the corporal the same note and a guard walked them to the central building.

The capital city was fairly new. With few trees, everything was made of rock or mud bricks making the buildings the same color as the dirt. The corporal told them to stay out front and went in to fetch one of the Richtren Visitors. Somehow the scholars expected a fiend in black robes but the fellow was dressed like every other soldier except for a reddish collar on his tunic. He said in passable Khandian, “You are expected. Please come this way.”

The Visitor deposited them in a fair sized room with one window. Shelturn instinctively gazed at avenues of escape. Looking around they realized just how much they would need to rely on each other. One of them spoke every language needed. But they also spoke some of those languages better than they should. Nag Kath was now fluent in Khandian and wrote it well, but was not supposed to. Idgshtok would have to struggle with his native tongue because anyone who spoke it well was an enemy.

At length, a spare man who was dressed in black arrived and said in Khandian, “Ah, gentlemen. I am so glad you have come. I hope your trip was free of trouble.” No one complained. “I am Uvuo, advisor to his Excellency the Assured.”

The Scholars took that as a prompt to introduce themselves in their assumed native tongues. Uvuo got right to the point, “We have asked you here to consult on several pieces of our heritage written in tongues no longer spoken.” He had to stop every sentence so Lurgsh, now Scholar Tsitriq, could translate it for the pale northerner. 

It was long understood that complete answers might land them in a black pit so everything they contemplated would take hours of painstaking research and consultation. It was nearing dinner so the Visitor concluded with, “Please, refresh yourselves after much toil. The attendants will take you to your quarters and meals will be brought. Tomorrow we will meet the Assured.”

One of the attendants was going to pull the bag off the poor donkey until the Dúnedain beat him to it. A growl from the towering creature convinced the servant that the guests were welcome to carry their own luggage. They were shown a mid-sized room with four cots and a single large water basin. A bucket in the corner was the privy. Dinner was two large bowls of cooked grain with some kind of fat and the tough greens Nag Kath chewed here before. 

______________-------______________

About breakfast time, a red-collar opened the door to let sun filter in and gestured for the men to follow him. They were led into a large room with a higher ceiling than they had yet seen around the Nûrnen. In a black throne on a raised dais sat the Assured with Uvuo standing beside him. The scholars formed a line twenty feet away from the man and bowed deeply. Being blasphemers, they were not forced to kowtow. Shelturn counted eight guards with red collars inside the room; one at each window and two more next to both doors.

They all knew the face by heart from Nag Kath’s drawing. He was a little fatter and the effect was intensified by padded armor against knives. He turned the ring on the first finger of his right hand. Uvuo did the talking. “Hail Assured, Ruler of All Nûrn!” The scholars managed halfhearted second bows in varying degrees.

Uvuo cleared his throat and announced in Khandian, “You are here to help the Assured divine mysteries of ancient documents using your learning and tongues.” Lurgsh gave that to everyone in Westron. 

Designated speaker Tsitreq added, “We are honored to serve the house of such an esteemed ruler.”

Nulvanash seemed a bit piqued at them not using his full title but nodded for his Visitor to proceed. The man would educate them in the fullness of time. They could see the concern on his face. A subaltern was waiting by the door. The Assured waved him up and received a report. It was not what he wanted to hear. Nulvanash asked a question and got an answer he didn’t want either. With a wave of the ruler’s hand, the man flew across the room and skidded to a few feet from the wall. He immediately prostrated himself with his head to the floor until told to leave. The demonstration was probably for the benefit of the visiting scholars and they were duly awed. That was more power than Nag Kath was expecting. Had the man found secrets in that ring? Did he have power already? It didn’t really change their plan and it confirmed the man couldn’t control his temper. They might need that.

Uvuo gestured for them to cross the room towards a small table with papers on top. A few steps into the trip, the Assured barked an order in Mordoran Plainstongue. Idgshtok turned, bowed and stumbled through an answer that showed he had barely understood. The kid had ice in his veins. That was a test. Uvuo said in Khandian to proceed and they gathered around the documents. 

They were old manuscripts. The agreed plan was that nothing could be immediately translated without the scholars meeting privately. These were another test. Nag Kath recognized them as the same sort of requisitions and trash he used to keep because the backs were blank. Shelturn, now honored Scholar Quastille, formerly of Mistrand, shook his head in concentration. Lurgsh and Idgshtok looked on as if studying the Nuralth. Six sheets down, they reached something in Elvish. Nag Kath gazed at Uvuo as if to ask if he could touch it. The Visitor nodded and the Dúnedain brought it close to his face. It seemed to be a personal diary. He read a part about putting the children to bed after reading to them aloud which Lurgsh translated.

“Houghnosh!” That wasn’t something the Assured needed to know. The stranger understood the womanish Elvish writings. He could understand others in due course. Lurgsh found something in his bailiwick to show competence. It was a piece from the Balchoth. That was not especially ancient. The nomadic warriors were active in the middle of the Third-Age, well after the Wain-Riders of the same region. Allies, but not servants of Sauron, clans of Balchoth were the dominant force among Easterlings for centuries. 

They were also the model for Nulvanash’s hierarchy. It helped that Nag Kath showed everyone the Visitor’s rock tracings many times. Scholar Tsitreq pointed at a few of them and read them by their original and modern names. One was Fûl, the same one on the Visitor pass and stamped on the groats they altered in Lhûg.

Seemingly not charlatans, Uvuo said they should take the documents back to their quarters and prepare their findings for the Assured’s pleasure. Idgshtok gathered them reverently and the four men left after deep bows to the motionless Nulvanash.

There was poor light in their room so Lurgsh asked if they could use a table near a window. That had to go almost all the way to the top for clearance. No one dared take authority for any decision at any time. The consequences burned in every mind. Half an hour later, the men were seated in four of the least comfortable chairs in Middle-earth. Chairs were rare. No one sat in the palace of the Assured. Westron would be the language of choice and a pidgin version of that when anyone was within earshot.

______________-------______________

Shelturn chuckled at the venerated archives, “Plenty here for wiping.”

Lurgsh agreed, “Aye, this might be every scrap of old paper in the place. Let us assume that they know what these say so our interpretations should be as close as possible. We have already invented what needs to be said about the map.”

Nag Kath broke out fresh paper and pencils or quills for their preliminary report. He dictated the dullest part of the Elf’s journal into Westron and could have written it in Variag but was not supposed to know it. Lurgsh wrote that and also took on the Balchoth annals which were essentially Rhûnic with some of the symbols sprinkled in. Those seemed to invoke godlings of the east, probably more obligations of respect than shorthand. The man had the oratory of a scholar too if he needed drama in explaining.

That would not be the following morning. Their presentation was designed to be tedious and succeeded. The Assured waved the hand without the ring which Uvuo took as a signal that the documents had been superbly studied and would be added to the national library. Then Nulvanash nodded to his henchman and the tone became more intense. On the same table were three new documents. Two were single sheets that seemed older and simpler than yesterday’s. The other was the map. Shelturn had to bite his lip recognizing his tea-mug stain on the dragon. 

Lurgsh asked permission to pick-up one of the sheets, as if to imply the scholars did not consider any of them more important than the others. It was granted and he said in Khandian, “This is older, much older.” Nag Kath walked a quarter turn around the table to look at his own script on the map but said nothing.

Uvuo did, “These are from the Assured’s personal files. You will report on them as well.” Igshtok started to roll them together when Nulvanash barked a command. The trooper had practiced not understanding and only stopped when the High Visitor said in Variag, “Those should stay here, young man.” He laid them down gently and stood at less than soldierly attention. 

As planned, Scholar Tsitreq observed, “This will take considerably longer, honored Lords. What conditions would you place on our deliberations?”

The High Visitor had practiced his part too, “The room to our right will serve as your new quarters. Your own papers will stay there as well. These documents will be brought to you in the morning and will remain under guard until dark.” This was in a harder voice than he had used. They were all sure it could be harder still. One of the red collared Visitors took the three sheets into what could be called a vestibule. It was the mirror image of the entry room with two open windows, each guarded by a single man. Another man covered the door. These weren’t rankers. They had red collars with swords and spears. None of them twitched. The scholars were shown back to last night’s room to collect their things except for the weapons. They were glad of the Lembas. The table here could seat eight and the chairs were better. They started with the two sheets. That was purely Lurgsh’s domain. Nothing looked particularly Elvish. Shelturn had to appear studious, offering comments in Westron. Their servant was not required to act scholarly but he cocked his ear at the two statues by the windows. 

While the archivists were trying to earn their keep, riders approached the palace slowing from a dead run. The Visitor by the door slipped out and was back a few moments later saying in halting Khandian that today’s session was over as he scooped the three sacred documents off the table. The guards left with him but there were still men posted along the perimeter of the grounds. This was what the scholars were waiting for. News had already reached the Assured there was trouble outside Mordor by way of the Bror and Khagan. Hopefully this was noise to the north that Aômul had crossed the Maegond, possibly in support of the great hosts riding east. If Rydovosh was holding to the script, he would be obviously not near the Nargil when Nulvanash felt forced to claim his rightful legacy in a mad rush due south. After this interruption, the Lords of Ûniarra Nûrn would want answers fast.

Scholars were kept in the room the rest of the day and night. Nag Kath listened for breathing outside the door and heard it. The guards never said a word. They didn’t really have to. Soldiers outside were moving fast and yelling orders. Horses were unsettled. Pigs were butchered. The army was moving.

The next day what they took to be a senior visitor came in with the four guards and the papers. Idgshtok cleared their own documents away to make room. Those archives were a assortment of counterfeits along with a pile of their own wipers collected in Lhûg. A few were on the same paper as the map. Secrets they divined for the Assured depended on which of the diversions were in play. Those had been practiced on the trip here, or there were nose scratches and chin rubs to steer the conversation. 

The scholars concentrated on the two new sheets. Soldiers shouting outside was music to their ears. Idgshtok translated the cries into rough Westron as if commenting on the ancient texts. It was the same hurried preparation of every army, wondering where the saddles were or who had the food. Soldiers and Visitors had separate tracks.

The first of the sheets commemorated a Balchoth moot with a list of gifts presented to their Lord and those presenting them. None of the names were familiar. Presumably this was tribute and making sure who had paid their squeeze. Scholar Tsitreq could give fine oratory describing a ruler probably much like the hefty Assured.

The next was much more interesting. Lurgsh only mumbled. This was something from ancient right-livers. It detailed the origin of Gelansor. Much of it was the same as taught now but it was not known to be that old. There was no way the locals could counterfeit something on this parchment. The script was in the oldest Khandian with the flourishes that made it almost look like the elaborate Black Speech. Did it date from the same time? Lurgsh dictated detailed notes to Shelturn who crabbed them between lines of one of their own papers rather than write them fresh. Nag Kath turned his attention to the map. That was why they were here so they had better look like they paid attention.

Around mid-afternoon, Nulvanash and Uvuo walked in to receive their bows. The Assured jabbered something which the steady High Visitor converted to; “What have you learned?”

Scholar Tsitreq said, “We have translated the two documents. He started with the tribute list and recited almost as a herald in the court of the Lord Balchoth, emphasizing the praise heaped on the old warlord. Nulvanash seemed to think that went well. Tsitreq shifted to the right-living document and summarized Shelturn’s comments. “Honored Lords, this is an old document that outlines family customs of peoples to the far east of these lands. It is …” He stopped for Shelturn’s next sentences and continued, “ … chiefly on the raising of children and holidays for their forgotten gods.”

After Uvuo gave it to him in their tongue, Nulvanash managed a “Hummph.”

The High Visitor delicately shifted to the remaining piece. “And have you made headway on the map?”

Lurgsh asked something of Nag Kath and received an answer. When that was not adequate, he asked something else and got a remonstration with rare gestures from the taciturn northerner. With dignity, Lurgsh turned back to the waiting lords and said, “Some of the writing is clear. It concerns the mountains towards Harad. But there are wards and locations that may be of Mordor itself. We may need to ask questions of you for reference. Tanisditter, here, thinks it should make itself known to us within the week.”

That exchange between the Lords was not as smooth. The Assured spoke sharply and left in a huff. Uvuo rubbed his hands together and soothed, “Please continue your studies. We have every confidence they will bear fruit.” 

Sitting back at the table, Nag Kath sighed, “It is time to spring the trap.”

______________-------______________

Uvuo’s rooms were spare. Nice things held no charm for him. He was the fifth High Visitor. Their birth was the destruction of the One Ring. Always before always, Sauron had servants, men with sorcerous powers, men, even women, of the Yvsuldor or their minions. It was they who would visit him to learn his will or speak his voice from afar. It was they who instructed and threatened the lazy Variag and the witless Southron. The Nazgûl were at the top of the heap. 

They all died with the reckoning. Anyone known to wield sorcerous powers was slain in vengeance along with their spawn. With the death of the soldier orcs, other men ranged from the basest slaves to men and orcs who whipped them. Almost everywhere, the latter were mutilated beyond recognition, helped when the clouds of the dark lord dissipated. But here on the western shore, a small group of overseers slew the mob. They knew how to control men and did so.

They agreed in fresh blood that Sauron was Lord and would return. Their lives would be better than before since they would serve directly rather than be buffered by the loathsome orcs. Warlords came and went, sometimes monthly. Visitors advised, intimidated and spoke words of greatness. Their own hierarchy was not based in violence. The dark lord took his time. It might be many generations of men before he could accept their help. High Visitors died or abdicated to their chosen successor and all men believed.

But the blood of sorcerers had been purged. It was not until fourteen years ago that a promising officer of Furnar Durosh showed signs of higher gifts. Close to the Visitor lair in Ûniarra Nûrn, officers were sent to assess and cultivate the Captain. One of those was Richtren Uvuo.

Nulvanash was almost what they were looking for; ruthless, singled-minded, cunning and persuasive. His volatility was concerning. And he was just smart enough to be effective. High Visitor Xaugoush decided the time had come. A gold ring had been found, stolen, stolen again and found by one of their order who told his superiors who to remove. There was only one kind of gold ring in Mordor. Survivors of Morannon said a fell-beast rider wheeled and made south as the others turned to Orodruin. It plummeted furthest from the tower. Could this be that ring? It had power.

Uvuo gave it to the impossibly rare male sorcerer who used it to inflict pain and demand unquestioning obedience from his men. Nulvanash’s Hurm died suddenly, triggering the Visitors’ plan to murder any potential rival. Within the year, the new Lord of Furnar Durosh had conquered Ûniarra Nûrn above him and consolidated his power between the two rivers.

The Visitors then split into two discreet corps. One was the security detail for Nulvanash. They were the best of his soldiers who well understood their favor. The other was the Yvsuldor reimagined; men spreading this gospel of malice to other lands, as they had done for the Dark Lord. They were carefully chosen for believing in his return. Nulvanash himself would build their stamina against interrogation and blasphemy with the ring. Six of their best were slain by the white ghost with Frûnzar in Rhûn or the pestilential winelands. A like operation in northern Harad succeeded. Visitors used it as a base to spread the word among that ruler’s neighbors and co-opt local men whose black passions burned bright.

Now it seemed their toil and patience would take them higher. The next dark lord was that much closer. 

______________-------______________

The Scholars’ plan relied on other men’s armies. Lords capable of laying waste to Mordor were waiting on the doorstep. That they were drinking tea and discussing trade routes was unknown here. Idgshtok heard Aômul mentioned twice last night, and not respectfully either. 

With luck, the Assured would decide he had to risk running up the river and fording with enough time and sorcery to capture power. Then he could bend all to his will. His hero had done so. Fighting Aômul to the north was the wrong direction. Nulvanash would probably win, but that left him open for Rydovosh to cross his army below. The scholars knew it was time to build the Assured’s confidence.

Uvuo came with two senior red-collars after Shelturn told one of the guards there were tidings. Elvish Scholar Tanisditter stayed sitting at the table and said in his harsh tongue, translated in Lurgsh’s smooth tones, that there was sorcery involved. The older, separate part of the text on the map said that a man blessed with favor from the dark ones could enter places lesser men could not. Failing that, a man of the Wain-Riders, in congress with a man of the desert, could combine their separate, lesser humors to be received by the most high. Was that why both Khand and Rhûn were massing, each having one component of the pair?

Scholar Tsitreq said there was more about the qualifications of favor and the Dúnedain was going through their records to discover those secrets. Uvuo lost his usual chattiness and nodded before stalking out the door. The learned men would drop the hammer in the next meeting tomorrow.

______________-------______________

There is a certain calm that comes from knowing you have done everything you can. The situation is still tense, but not nagging. If all went wrong, Nag Kath would kill the entire leadership of this wretched realm but that would still leave a seething dunghill of men who would do the same thing, even without the ring. The scholars slept while Nag Kath watched.

Late the next afternoon, the scholars announced a breakthrough. Both the Assured and his High Visitor came into the room. Nulvanash was in battle armor this time but his right hand was ungloved. Nag Kath gave Lurgsh the story in pidgin Easterling and Sindarin. Lurgsh explained, “There is more to the puzzle, High Lords. The older writings describe how the favored man gains entry. Perhaps the map shows where but your humble scholars do not know the location. I apologize. Amid the hidden tribute of the Southrons is the test and the reward; a token of gold with a blue jewel, talisman of the Nazgûl Khamûl himself! It will take a ring to claim it. It must be of the Urmthalak rings held away from what is described as a ‘citadel of sight’. Discovering it must come through flame because a false ring would destroy the bearer.”

Hopefully they had heard that the One Ring showed its inscription after being heated. If not, Nag Kath could pantomime that. As rehearsed, Lurgsh dismissed the claim, “Of course, there are many such treasure maps in the bazaar that men will sell to the gullible. I hope your Excellency did not pay overmuch for this one.”

They could see the wheels turning inside both minds. It was the real thing. Lurgsh set the hook, “One would need to already have a ring of power and it would have to be confirmed.”

Nulvanash turned the ring on his finger and nodded to the Visitor. No one moved. Uvuo asked, “What must be done?”

Lurgsh looked at his towering northerner and asked a question. Nag Kath gave a short, halting version in Westron waving his fingers upwards which Lurgsh interpreted as, “It must be heated in fire to reveal writing of the source.”

Put my precious in fire?! Nulvanash knew he must. Those rings were wrought in the hottest of smithies. The Assured ordered a large fire built in the stove of his throne room. It was already hot but the Lord’s will be done. The Dúnedain also said he would need tongs and a large bucket of water. Those were brought as well.

The scholars were left alone for an hour and then summoned to the sweltering throne room. Nulvanash stepped off his dais and went to the tall man. Taking the ring off his finger he had Uvuo translate through Lurgsh, “If any harm comes to this, you will die a thousand times.” The stranger nodded grimly and took the ring with the tongs. Nag Kath set it in the fire not knowing whether there was any writing on it or not. It didn’t matter. He had a story either way. 

For five minutes they watched the ring near the coals and then did see two Dwarvish markings inside the band. He could not read them and doubted these men could either. He gripped it with the tongs and showed them with a grim smile and nod before slowly quenching the ring in the water. When it sizzled, he lost the tong grip and reached his hand into the bucket to get the ring which he handed to the Assured.

As the man started to slip it on Nag Kath said something sharply in Elvish, apologized in the same tongue and told Lurgsh to say, “I am sorry, Assured. The force of Urmthalak rings weaken if worn constantly. Tanisditter said …” he looked at Nag Kath again for clarification and continued, “… for much higher power than you have known it should only be worn at the time of greatest need. It was the custom of men with such rings to wear them on a chain that could be used at an instant.” He showed the charm Nag Kath bought in Riavod, conveniently around his neck.

A golden chain was found instantly. The assured was not used to a naked finger but massing hostiles along his northern border made the situation dire. Greater power may be required. Uvuo asked, “Were there any instructions for the kind of spell?”

Lurgsh asked that of the tall man and replied, “Just the spell that the bearer always uses for favor. The Black Speech will take longer. My colleague has still not discovered the nature of the folds.”

“Black Speech? Folds?”

“Yes, the way the map bends on itself. Come this way.” They walked back to the vestibule and Nag Kath showed how the wrinkled map folded at several angles. One clever combination of them made the rocks of the mountains grasp the ring like a fist. 

Nulvanash and the High Visitor looked at each other without speaking. With a wave of his Assured hand, the Lords and guards left the room taking only the map. The other two documents were tests too. Shelturn slipped them in his folio. They all sat at the table and watched the Elf nod ever so slightly. 

The Dwarf ring was in his pocket. 

______________-------______________

That night the Elf used the ‘fast’ to slip out the window on an errand. He was back within the hour. It was a good thing because red-collar guards woke them before dawn with orders to move. They collected their things and, surprisingly, their weapons from the original room. Saddling the horses, Nag Kath quietly said that anyone who wanted to leave could ride anytime they saw the opening. 

A week before, word had reached the High Visitor that the blasphemer Hurm Rydovosh had moved forces to the east, away from Ûniarra Nûrn. That was supposedly because the equally contemptible Rhorzah had massed troops on Rydovosh’s eastern border after a simmering disagreement over a matter beneath the Assured’s dignity. The spy left as soon as he knew and it was possible that Rhorzah had already forded some cavalry.

When the two Visitors saw the mountain fist grasping the ring, they knew their time had come. The scholars would ride with the strike force if more answers were needed. Nulvanash spent his night awake. Not wearing his ring was uncomfortable. He did grip it in his hand much of the time and still felt its power. So much blood. So much toil. So many traitors. Sauron must have had similar moments of doubt.

A skeleton force of two hundred infantry was left in the city to guard the Assured’s gold. Aômul’s forces were still on the peninsula but had not moved closer to the Lizzurant. All three hundred eighty of Nulvanash's cavalry would use the same ford as the stealth raid did last time, about two-thirds up the Nargil. Pushing hard they should reach the rocks in four days. 

Another reason the Assured was sweating was that eight days before, his entire infantry, almost a thousand men, left a few of their number lighting fires and making noise along the river while the rest were force-marched up the Assured's side of the Nargil. They would pick their way through the mountain crags to drop in on Rydovosh’s lands from the south where the Nargil tributaries could be forded by foot-soldiers. They would then join the cavalry in the foothills. The foot-soldiers were three days upriver when tidings of Aômul's crossing arrived. They had stripped their northern defenses wagering that after seizing whatever was in that cave they could come back and deal with the lowly Hurms.

One hundred sixty of the cavalry were red-collared Visitors. One might assume they were the elite troops but they weren’t hardened warriors. All had imagined their Lord’s victory in glory. Young and ruthless, they were roundly despised by the working soldiery, even if no one said so. Sixty Visitors were the Assured’s bodyguard and the rest rode ahead or behind. There were Ghoranduls with the infantry too, much like the man Nag Kath questioned on the Celduin. They were spies and motivators with the top man annoying the general nominally in charge. There wasn’t much either could do about it since Nulvanash purposely played them against each other. Only a few in either column knew the destination.

The cavalry made it to the ford at dusk of the third day, camping without fires to cross at first light for the sprint up the hill in enemy territory. Anandogh, the Captain who had felt the power and came back with his Lord, was one of the men in charge of getting the horses across the river. He scornfully glanced at the eastern scholars as he walked by. With him was a young aide listening for orders. He reminded Nag Kath of the delicate woman who hoped her son might be spared. With the summer river flow, horses made it across in good order, though two dozen were caught in the current and straggled in late. That would have been the best place for any of the scholars to drift from pursuit but their horses were tied to four of the larger Visitors. 

Four hundred horses can’t make time like a dozen. They get in each other’s way. It takes a long time to drink at little streams. Few had been conditioned for distance. Darkness fell before the army reached the foothills of the Nargil Pass. After a hard day's ride, Nulvanash planned to walk up there by now and proclaim himself Lord of All. He would have to wait for the sun or take his chances on loose shale. His infantry was camped seven miles south on their side of the river. There was no place to put them out of view. Fords had been scouted across the tributaries to move at the signal. General Yshok was here in the Assured’s camp and would return to his men at first light to cross them here as the perimeter defense when the Assured reached the rocks about mid-day.

Most of Rydovosh’s army and cavalry plus a hundred thirty horse on loan from Rhorzah were biding their time five miles to the east. In the dash for the mountains, the Assured hadn’t sent flanking scouts to survey the gullies more than a mile from the main force. The Hurm’s scouts in the mountains were relaying signals. Rydovosh was to wait until the fat man puffed his way up those crags before coming into view.

Nag Kath wrapped his arms around his knees and smelled the air. Later that evening he paid a courtesy call to the infantry General’s tent after visiting the Richtrens' horses. As the sun peeked over the ridge, Uvuo and a dozen of his trolls came by the scholars’ bedrolls. Any pretense of graciousness was gone. They were prisoners to answer questions and they would fight for their lives if attacked because either side would slay them just as happily.

The High Visitor growled, “Now, what of the Black Speech?” 

Shelturn hoped to kill this one himself. In the famous stories, the hero always slew the villain and the officers destroyed their opposite numbers in fair combat. With this one; a knife in back would be fine. Lurgsh said to Nag Kath, “He wants to know about the Black Speech.”

The tall northern scholar looked terrified and started to whimper that he was not a war-master, he was a man of words and thoughts. One of the Visitors slapped him across the face to silence his womanish fussing. Shelturn walked over to the bleeding Dúnedain and made things clear, “Sorry, lad. Tell the man.”

The braided-one could not compose himself. The jumbled translation was that knowing those words would be a terrible thing. The red-collar stepped in for another punch when the tall creature broke down and cried, “It must be said, **_‘Dooshs nucht halamn viell.’_**

The High Visitor asked softly, “What does it mean?” 

The scholar was crying and babbling. The red-collar threatened and the tall man raised his arms to protect himself howling, “I do not know! It must be said to enter. But it must not be said else light will fail and the dark lord is risen!”

Lurgsh explained. Uvuo said firmly, “Repeat that!” The cowardly Dúnedain took Uvuo and one of the guards through the spell several times until they would not forget. When the Visitors tramped up to Nulvanash’s tent, the other scholars comforted the poor fellow. 

______________-------______________

The cavalry rode the horses too hard for three hours to reach the base of the cliffs. There was no sign of the infantry but it was still early with no sign of the enemy. The Assured could not wait and removed his armor. He was not in shape to haul twenty five pounds of steel up that mountain. It would take him at least an hour traveling light. Thirty of his men under Anandogh accompanied him, stationing groups of three as rear guards along the way. 

Rydovash pulled his troops up to the ridge just east of the horizon. They crested the hill as Nulvanash had almost reached the warded cave. The Assured tried to get in and was repulsed, forgetting for a moment that his ring was on the chain. One of the Visitor guards shouted that enemy forces were attacking. The Assured scampered to the edge of the crag and realized he had to get in and seize power now. The guard with Uvuo who had memorized the chant repeated it. Nulvanash tore the gold chain from his neck and put the ring on his finger frantically chanting, “ ** _Dooshs nucht halamn viell!_** ”

Nag Kath had not had much luck with Nenwûla of the Viersh’s binding plants. The only one that could be combined with sorcery was the local equivalent of the horse-purge pugas root. That powder was slipped into the officers’ paddock on his late night visit to the general. What little sorcery he was able to embed in the former Florin ring was released and sixty constipated horses suddenly bolted and loudly relieved themselves. The infantry was nowhere to be seen.

As the Nargil horsemen bore down on the dismounted and unformed cavalry of the Assured, Nulvanash threw himself against the ward Nag Kath created. The weakened spell broke and the man burst into the cave to find the Dwarf charm in plain view. Grasping the undeniable talisman of Khamûl's power he screamed from the ledge; **_‘Dooshs nucht halamn viell’_** , which only made the horses buck the officers off and void themselves again.

About half the cavalry was able to mount but there was no organized charge at Ryduvosh’s troops. The Hurm had his neighbor Rhorzah’s 111 riders plus sixty of his own. More importantly, he archers already in position for the Nulvanash’s horsemen on both wings. They started lobbing arrows into the unarmored Visitors after they were well within range, having been told not to expect foot-soldiers from the left flank. 

When the first wave was scattered, Rydovosh sent in his lancers with orders not to hurt the horses if they could avoid it. Troopers still chasing flatulent horses saw the extent of the slaughter. The few who could swim tried their luck in the frigid Nargil. The rest grabbed the nearest weapon and joined the fray much too late. The scholars mostly made a point of not being targets as arrow fire was concentrated on the front lines.

Nulvanash watched from the ledge howling in rage and fear. With the extent of the disaster obvious, Anandogh shoved the hysterical Assured down the cliff. 

Not a single Visitor survived, though many tried to surrender. Stripping their red-collared tunics did not help. Men in shirts were slain begging. Uvuo was stabbed between the fifth and sixth ribs after the first arrow fell, too quick an end, some thought. About half of the regular cavalrymen were allowed to yield. Five miles up the hill, General Yshok seemed in a trance, sure to his imminent dying day that the Assured himself told him to hold their positions. Without food or prospects, the soldiers trickled down the mountain over the next week and were generally treated better than they deserved after denouncing the Ghoranduls among them. 

Four bloodied scholars wandered towards the victorious forces and bowed before Hurm Rydovosh. The Elf said, “I hope you like your new horses.” Idgshtok translated and the Hurm grinned. He asked his trooper, “Aômul has the far bank?” Hurms Aômul and Rhorzah had been promised some of the Visitor’s gold. 

“As we speak, My Lord. Two hundred Yvsuldor infantry hold the city along the Lisurrant trying to look like more. They are his worst troops.”

The Hurm gravely asked the Elf, “My sister and her son?”

“Staying with your friends.”

“Tomorrow we will ride north to secure the Yvsuldor stronghold.” He needed to make for the capital since Aômul might take the opportunity to seize the defenseless city and Rhorzah's cavalry wanted to collect their geld. Rydovosh’s losses were light. His horses were replaced in greater numbers. There was no celebrating or ale, just the screaming of men who would walk or die. His Horsemen crossed at the lower, safer ford into Ûniarra Nûrn while the infantry took the prisoners to the river mouth waiting for the lone ferry to the west. Not many of the regular army tried to escape. There was nowhere to go and if they hadn’t been killed already, the chances were good their lives would improve with the change in Hurms.

______________-------______________

Idgshtok was allowed to return to the east for services rendered. Fortunately, no one ate the donkey so she got the Lembas bags and as much fodder as she could carry. The Hurm fared the conquerors well as they boarded the ferry across the Lizzurant. Deserters ate the ferry horse so Shelturn showed one of Rydovosh’s men how to wind the winch with a captured mount. It took two hours to cross but they lived. 

Once there, Hurm Aômul greeted them more warmly than the last time and insisted on giving the rankest dinner any but Nag Kath could remember. It might have been worse but their host proudly claimed that for their honored guests, the meal included none of the sucker-fish that never lost the tainted smell of the Nûrnen.

In the morning it was time to go. Nag Kath wished his scholars the best of lives and hoped one day they would celebrate with good wine and stories. The bond would last the rest of their lives. Waving goodbye, Shelturn turned and shouted, “Nag Kath; **_‘Dooshs nucht halamn viell?’_**

“Your Lord relieves you!” 

There was still use for the Black Speech.

______________-------______________

The scholars still had a dangerous ride ahead but it was a jaunt compared to the Elf’s chosen path. He could have returned with them, been feted and perhaps court the lady fair, but there was still a job to do. The Elf nudged Charlo along the west bank of the Maegond and made for the Plain of Gorgoroth. As Gandalf said; ‘as the Nazgûl flies’ it lay across a hundred leagues of the foulest land on earth. And the Nazgûl had flown it many times. The jenny, now named Rosas, carried fodder and gureeq grain along with two mostly empty water sacks on either side. Charlo had water too along with Nag Kath’s few clothes, satchel and him. 

Five days upriver he reached the confluence of the tributaries; one flowing from the mountain spur of the upper Ered and his path towards a finger of the Ephel Duath range. This was the orc road of men’s tears. It hugged the lee of the western mountains. Three days later, the path veered northwest away from the spur which was when he was told to fill the water bags. Rosas slowed but did not complain. The grade rose gently and he did not push her the way every owner before him had. There was water trickling down the north slope of the spur for another couple days so they drank whenever they could and refreshed the bags. 

Trees had not found their way to this blasted land, though he could see some in the far mountains below year-round snow. There were no people, no animals and few plants. Those were edible so he let the beasts nibble to supplement the dry food. Fifteen days after the battle, the road turned north. This close to the mountains it was not as hot as it had been in all-day sun. To the right of the road were vast tracts of thorn bushes. Once or twice he saw birds flitting among them looking for bugs.

And there were bones; bones of men, orcs, fell draft animals used to haul grain for thousands of years, bones bleached white in the rainless gravel. Every story ended badly. That was why this trip was so important. A week later they were halfway up the western edge of the plateau. For the first time in five days there was a stream bravely fighting its way from the foothills to the flats. It tested clean. Rosas saw her first Kath Bath but withheld comment. They had to cross quite a few of them in the next two days.

______________-------______________

Nag Kath hadn’t broken camp two hours before when he felt the hair on his neck stand up. He was being followed, from a considerable distance, but there was someone there. He kept his pace steady. Cresting a ridge, he dropped the reins and scrambled-up a cliff overlooking the path. There it was; a hint of motion sneaking from rock to rise and then half a head poking up to check his next stop. 

It was an orc, or, at least, mostly an orc. If it was a horse-eating orc, pickings had been slim for a long while. The smell of him would startle the animals but the wind was coming from the west. The hunter knew that. Nag Kath moved the beasts over the next little rise and secured them against a scare before running back to his original vantage point. 

The creature would rise up more like a man than a soldier orc on his back legs. He was dressed in rags with no armor and carried a short curved sword. The stalker peered around Nag Kath’s rise but did not see him hiding above so he capered into the bowl beneath.

The Elf said in the Black Speech, “ ** _So, think you to eat my donkey?_** ”

The orc startled and looked from side to side but not up. He didn’t run away. Nag Kath slid down the sand from his loft and repeated his question. As the orc raised his sword the Elf ordered, **_“Drop that or die.”_** The creature let it fall and stared. Nag Kath asked, **_“What are you?”_**

 ** _“Ghougash, Brou Kath.”_** Another orc six.

Tallazh once told him that southern orcish was much simpler than the Black Speech but that orcs often had a smattering of Westron. Nag Kath asked, “Do you speak the common-tongue?”

“Some.”

In Westron; “Are you hungry?”

The creature looked at him as if trying to understand how this was going. With the bow the tall one could easily have killed him from far away. “Hungry, _**hauk**_.”

The Elf said, “Wait here.” When he returned with some Lembas, the orc was still standing there. Nag Kath tossed him a large piece. The creature first nibbled and then could not stuff his face fast enough. The changeling wondered if the orc could eat the bread of the fair but it was gone in moments. Barely taking his eyes from his captor, the orc went to a rivulet in the rocks and had a long drink. Lembas makes you thirsty. Nag Kath told him to sit and then sat about twenty feet away. Settled, he asked, “You fought for Sauron, yes?”

“ _ **Hauk.**_ ”

“How did you live?”

“Live, all die. Only me.” Oh, did that sound familiar.

Nag Kath recalled the famed pity of Bilbo and Frodo in his turn. The war had been over for thirty five years. Here was this creature wandering the wastes of Mordor in penance for the army that died at the Black Gate. 

“Do you want to live like this?” He had to remind himself that as a former orc, he couldn’t answer that either. “Do you want to be free?”

“Hughhm.”

Nag Kath changed to the Black Speech, **_“I may be able to make you not be orc. You may die. It will hurt.”_**

The orc said quickly, **_“Do.”_**

This was an experimental spell. Gandalf had dragged the remaining orc out of him in a minute, though it took the now-Elf three days to recover. He might kill the beast. He might butcher the spell and make it worse. It looked like the creature was already turning from orcish form but he would die of old age well before he got there. Out of hundreds of thousands of orcs who were directly tied to Sauron, two lived. And they were both sitting here. 

Nag Kath stood and sent a spell as close as he could remember being hit with in Orthanc. The orc doubled on his side, screaming in pain. He writhed and tried to reach his sword but there he had no control of his muscles and simply groaned and twitched for several hours. Faint black and green mist leaked from his pores the whole time.

When he mercifully stopped moving, Nag Kath went back to his confused animals for a towel and a blanket. There was no wood for a fire so he just covered his patient and stayed there, occasionally dribbling water into its mouth. 

Day by day, the orc started looking more like a man. On the third day, Nag Kath used his healer’s nips to cut tin staples out of a gash that ran from the creature’s forehead down his nose. Orcs squeezed those into serious wounds to stop bleeding. Since infections wouldn’t kill them, they could live with the scar. On the morning of the sixth day, he was a man about the size of the men of Mordor with a bald head and that disfiguring scar running down the front of his face. A quick check showed he was male. 

Ghougash woke quite gently that afternoon. Raising on his elbows he looked around to get his focus and saw Nag Kath waiting patiently. The man jerked up to sitting position and reached for his sword but it had been hidden a few yards away. Nag Kath asked, “How do you feel?”

The former orc felt around his various parts and ran his hands over his face. Then he spit loudly and staggered over to the wet rocks for a long drink. Still disoriented he walked back to his dent in the dirt and sat again. “What you do?”

“I turned you into a man.” 

“Men are enemy.”

“They are all that is left. Now you go live with them.”

“They will kill me.”

“They might, but not because you are an orc. Come with me.”

They walked over to Charlo and Rosas who still smelled orc and were nervous but didn’t panic. Nag Kath took a half-dozen Lembas cakes out of his pack and some coins. He approached the new man carefully and handed him the food. “Do you know what money is?”

“ _ **Hauk.**_ ”

“Hold out your hand.” 

Ghougash did and the Elf dropped a small load of coins in his palm. “That is a lot of money. You can buy ten horses with that much. Do you understand?”

“ _ **Nuch.**_ ”

Nag Kath explained as well as he could what each of the various coins would buy ranging from groats to a nipper. “Take them to the Nûrnen and live. You will be a man now.”

Orcs can smile. This one did. The bloodlines used to create him must have been of men and he would be middle-aged and ugly. But he would be a man and could learn to live with men until he died like one. Nag Kath ripped the cuffs and hems off his bloody clothes and sent Ghougash on his way. He hoped he would make it. He hoped everyone would.

______________------______________

It was another week to Orodruin. The landscape never changed. There were fewer streams on the plateau and he was glad of the water bags when they got out of the mountain shadow. What a terrible place! Even a generation and a half after the explosion that rocked the world, sulfurous gasses still fumed from the pocked earth. Nag Kath imagined Frodo and Sam grinding their way up this benighted rock when it was much taller than now. The animals were ill at ease. Rosas tried to flee once but she was tied to Charlo and he was much larger. 

The mountain had cooled. After hobbling the animals together, it took the changeling all day to climb blasted cliffs. A pool of molten rock might still be hot enough. Nag Kath took the ring from his pocket and looked at it for the longest time. It called to him, seducing him. He should keep it. Wear it now! He should not waste this chance to increase his power. 

Even in his palm, he felt possession seeping into his flesh. A man would have been torn asunder with doubt and greed. Looking up, the Evenstar was coming into view – tacit confirmation that enemies of Sauron still watched over this earth. The Elf tossed the ring into the reddest lava forty feet below, waiting for it to melt. Then he heaved several five-pound rocks down until one splatted on top to spread the gold. 

Gimli might never forgive him, but he would understand.

This ends **_Unanchored_** , the Second Book of **_Nag Kath_**


End file.
